


Trope Springs Eternal

by VioletHaze



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A/B/O, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, BDSM, Barista Dean, Blanket Fic, Bottom Dean, Bunker Fic, Castiel in the Bunker, Dom Castiel, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Firefighter Castiel, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I swear this isn't crack, M/M, Matchmaker Sam, Pining, Sam Ships It, Sub Dean, Tentacles, Top Cas, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Well maybe a little, Wingfic, bed sharing, couple for the case, deancastropefest, idiots in love who need a little help, tentacle docking, trapped/isolated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7933474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's in love with Cas. Cas is in love with Dean. That much is obvious to everyone who sees them. But instead of acting on it, these two idiots seem bound and determined to score gold medals in the pining olympics. The staring, the longing, the unresolved sexual tension that's strong enough to combust and engulf the planet…is there anything that can push them out of their safe, cowardly positions? Leaving them to their own devices hasn't worked so maybe it's time to pull out the big guns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Entirely-the-wrong-sort](http://entirely-the-wrong-sort.tumblr.com/) is such an amazingly talented artist! Her enthusiasm and skill made her so much fun to work with! Meeting her was one of the best things about participating in this challenge. 
> 
> Thank you to my invaluable and supportive beta readers: [Chandra](http://pecanpie.co.vu/) and [Nicky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelmd). Extra special thanks to [Kai](http://cluelessakemi.tumblr.com/) who listened to me whine as I wrote and let me spoon feed her this fic practically one text message at a time.
> 
> I can't say enough good things about [Jess](http://museaway.tumblr.com/) and [JoJo](http://jojodacrow.tumblr.com/) and the way they ran Tropefest. They created a community as well as a challenge and their ongoing support and clear communication made it a wonderful experience from start to finish.

Sam is going to kill them both. 

Three weeks ago Cas showed up looking a little worse for wear and explaining that he’d re-acquired his grace from Metatron. Since then, they’ve been at the bunker, just the three of them. No cases, no days spent driving across the country strategizing before a hunt or recuperating afterwards.What few leads they've had Dean has dismissed, encouraging Sam to pass them along to hunters already in proximity.Sam gets it, he does. He was thrilled to have Cas back and there’s no doubt he looked a little rough around the edges, but he’s a grown man—celestial being—whatever—and the way Dean’s been coddling him is nothing short of ridiculous. 

**Exhibit A :**When Dean found out Metatron had given Cas the entirety of pop culture knowledge without any first-hand exposure, he’d recoiled in horror. “It’s not the same thing, man. You have to see it for yourself. These things are all about context.” 

To remedy that, he’s embarked on a one-man mission to familiarize Cas with the “essential movies”. Tonight they’re going to begin the Die Hard series which Sam has seen so many times he can practically recite them. These old movies, watched in motels all over the goddamned country, are probably the closest thing he and his brother have to actual family traditions.

So Sam makes a nice big bowl of popcorn, happy to spend the evening chilling in front of the television, plopped on his usual spot on the couch, feet on the coffee table.

He carries the bowl into the room and stops short. Cas and Dean are sitting on the couch side-by-side, a little closer than necessary, and they both quickly lean away as soon as they register his presence. It’s a decent-sized couch but there’s no way to fit all three of them comfortably which means…

“Oh hey, Sammy, Cas is gonna sit here so I can explain things to him better.” Dean reaches up to take the bowl of popcorn out of Sam’s hands. “It’ll disturb you less while you’re watching,” he adds, like he’s doing Sam a favor by banishing him to the chair off to the side.

Sam smiles tightly at them. “Great.” He sits in the chair gingerly, arranging his knees somewhere up by his ears.

Dean offers the popcorn to Cas, who beams his thanks at him and holds the bowl in his lap, close enough that Dean can easily reach. Sam gazes longingly at the coffee table which is too far away for his feet. He scoots his chair closer, doing his best to ignore the spring that pops free and pokes into his lower back.

Still smiling back at Cas, Dean starts the movie.

**Exhibit B :** There’s no doubt that Cas is still recovering. Neither fully human nor fully angel, he’s mired in some weird in-between phase.His powers, when they do work, are iffy and unreliable. He still needs to eat and sleep, albeit somewhat erratically.

He’s reassured Sam and Dean that there’s nothing they can do for him during this process; it’s merely a matter of time. Nonetheless, Dean has decided Cas looks a little thin, so he’s spending a lot of time in the kitchen cooking up things with which to tempt Cas’s appetite.

Which is fine, there’s no harm in that, except that when Sam finishes his morning run and comes back to the kitchen for breakfast he ends up peering into the refrigerator, confused. He knows for a fact Dean was just at the grocery store.

Sam’s already poured his bowl of granola and he turns to where his brother sits drinking coffee at the table. “Hey Dean, where’s my milk?“

Dean looks up to explain. “I know you like skim, but Cas could really stand to put on a few pounds so I got whole.”

“You couldn’t have gotten both?” Sam’s bitchface is completely wasted on Dean who has already turned his attention back to his phone.

“Live a little, Sammy.”

**Exhibit Infinity Times Infinity :** For the better part of a month, Sam has had a front row seat to the Dean and Cas show, and if he walks into one more room to find them staring at each other, he's going to push their stupid faces together himself. 

It's not like he hasn't tried talking to his brother. While Dean certainly doesn’t need his blessing, Sam figures it can’t hurt for him to know just how supportive he is, but Dean cuts him off the minute Sam flits anywhere near the subject. With the option of actual communication shut down, Sam has done everything else he can think of to facilitate. He’s sent the two of them off on errands together, he’s fake-yawned and excused himself for bed early when they're sitting ever-closer on the couch. But, no matter what he does, every day finds them still awkwardly engaged in the holding pattern that is their own stunted brand of flirting. 

At this point he’ll settle for anything to break up the current routine, and finding a case seems to be the easiest solution. 

Sam and Cas are quietly trying to do just that when Dean enters the library, his favorite mug in hand. He sits down in front of his laptop and rearranges a stack of papers to make room for his coffee. “What's this?"

Sam looks up to see him holding a coin in his hand. It's small and oddly shaped and, from the looks of it, rather old.

Cas is still looking at a newspaper when he answers Dean, his voice oddly casual. “Oh, I picked that up last time I was in Sumeria."

"What, like a souvenir?" Dean squints at it, trying to make out the characters on it. "When was that?"

Sam looks around his place at the table, even lifting up a stack of books, but he doesn't find anything even remotely Sumerian. Neither of them seem to notice.

“Many, many years ago." Cas calmly flips a page.

"Been meaning to give it to me all this time?" Dean’s voice is teasing, and he leans back in his chair.

Cas finally glances up from his work. "Do you like it?" 

Sam can see the tentative look in his eyes as he awaits Dean's response.

"Yeah, it's cool." Dean flips it into the air with his thumb then catches it.

"It's all yours then." Cas looks...relieved. He smiles broadly at Dean. Dean grins back and Sam looks between the two of them for a long moment before clearing his throat.

"So, about finding a case..."

For once, it's Cas who stops staring first.

As they search for anything strange or suspicious in the news, the room falls back into quiet work mode. The silence is broken only by Sam occasionally typing on his laptop which is odd, he realizes, because Dean also has his computer open in front of him. When Sam looks up from his own research, he sees Dean focused on the coin, turning it in a circle between his finger and thumb. Rolling his eyes, Sam goes back to work, searching for more reports on a missing person in central Iowa but his concentration is tested by an intermittent tapping. Dean is finally looking at the materials in front of him, but he's tapping the edge of the coin on the wooden table as he does so. 

“Dean,” Sam says softly but firmly. Dean gives it a few final you're-not-the-boss-of-me irritating taps before safely enclosing the coin in the palm of his hand and taking a noisy drink of coffee.

There are a blessed three and a half minutes of productive work time before Sam is again interrupted, this time by a whirring sound as Dean spins the coin on the table top.

"You know what would be great?" Sam asks with a Sam Winchester-sized dose of sarcasm. "If you would literally find _any_ thing else to do." 

"I'm not doing anything," Dean argues.

"And yet!" Sam says, slapping his palm on the library table hard enough to make the coin topple over. “Tapping. Spinning. Slurping your coffee. And you know damn well that chair squeaks but you insist on sitting on it." Of course he does; it's the one closest to Cas. 

Dean looks insulted. "I can't help it if I'm bored. There's nothing to do."

Sam can’t remember a time when Dean let more than a week pass without urging them to pack up and head out on the faintest whisper of a lead."Well, there _would_ be if you actually spent some time helping us find a case."

"Cas doesn't think I'm annoying." He turns toward the angel with a smug look. "Do you, Cas?"

Cas looks up from his stack of newspapers to gaze fondly at Dean, but his expression changes when Sam again clears his throat loudly. "I could use some help with these." He selects a couple of newspapers and slides them over.

With Dean finally occupied, Sam turns back to his own work. He knows complete quiet is out of the question but the coin is safely in Deans pocket and the coffee is nearly empty. When Dean’s chair lets out a couple of shrill creaks, Sam merely sighs and presses his lips together. It's not until Cas makes a small, surprised sound that he finally looks up again. 

Frowning, Cas is picking something out of his hair. Dean, for once, has his eyes studiously on his newspaper. From Sam's seat he can see both the fake look of concentration on his brother’s face and the ripped corner of the page.

(Sam’s going to kill them both, but he’s going to kill Dean first.)

"Seriously?" Sam says. "A spitball?"

Looking confused, Cas sets the offending wad of paper on the table. Dean continues to stare at his paper, the smallest of smirks playing around his mouth.

"Does he not have a pigtail for you to yank?"

That gets Dean's attention and he shoots his brother a warning glare.

"I don't understand." Cas examines the spitball and then Dean.

"You see, Cas," Sam begins, "when extremely immature boys like--"

"Let's go, Cas." Dean's chair gives a prolonged squeak as he hurries to stand.

"Where are we going?"

"I need your help finding something."

Without further question, Cas gets up to follow Dean out of the library. In the now silent room, Sam peacefully returns to his reading.

Once they’re both in the hallway, Dean stops. “Thought we could work in one of the storage rooms.”

It’s an approach they’ve taken fairly often in the bunker. With items tucked away in storerooms and closets and bookshelves and file cabinets, there is still so much to discover. The Men of Letters had done a fairly good job labeling individual items, but there seemed to be no overarching organizational system and most of the time they’re left guessing as to why certain items are grouped together. They’ve tackled the project in small bursts using whatever limited free time they have.

Dean leads Cas down some hallways until they reach one not too far from the bedroom wing. Choosing at random, he stops in front of one of the three doors and reaches for the knob.

Cas quickly moves to stand between him and the door. “Not this one.”

Dean blinks. “Why not?”

“Sam and I finished it last time.” He’s not able to hold Dean’s eyes when he says it.

Dean waits, but there’s nothing else forthcoming so he decides not to push it. He points down the hall. “That one good?”

Cas nods but he still hasn’t stepped away from the door. He smiles softly at Dean. “Yes, that one would be fine.”

Dean starts to reach for his arm to guide him down the hall, then thinks better of it. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles at Cas. “Yeah, sure,” he says, even though that doesn’t make any sense.

They’re still standing there smiling at each other when Sam appears on his way to get more coffee. “Of course,” he mutters to himself as he passes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean shuffles into the kitchen in a T-shirt and boxers. His grey dead-guy robe is open and the belt flaps at his sides. He leans heavily against the counter and looks at Sam who is dressed in running clothes and eating spoonfuls of something that appears to have come out of a wood chipper. Waving a vague, disgusted hand in his brother’s direction he says, “I did not raise you to be like this.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Healthy, you mean? Committed to taking care of myself? Yes, I can see why you would object.”

“It’s too early for this,” Dean grumbles as he reaches for his favorite mug.

“It’s 10:30,” Sam helpfully informs him.

“Where’s Cas?”

“Haven’t seen him this morning.”

Dean slumps into a chair and brings his cup to his mouth, anticipating that first swallow of hot coffee that always makes it feel like his brain is unclenching in his skull. He starts to take a long sip but quickly pulls the cup away when something hard hits his teeth. “For fuck’s sake. Not again.”

“If you don’t like the coffee I make, get up earlier and make it yourself.” Sam clangs his spoon in his bowl.

Dean sighs loudly. “It’s not the coffee. It’s _this_.” He uses two fingers to scoop something green out of his cup.

Sam leans over to inspect it. “Is that…sea glass?”

Dean drops it back into the coffee with a small splash. “I don’t know what it is but I would like to know what the hell it’s doing in my mug.”

“The backstroke?” Sam offers helpfully.

Unamused, Dean scrapes back his chair and dumps the contents of the cup into the sink.

“How did you not notice it before you filled your mug?”

“Because there isn’t any caffeine in my bloodstream yet, Sam,” Dean bristles. “Don’t judge me.” He rinses the cup and then pours himself fresh coffee. “Cas knows this is my favorite mug. Why would he put it in there?”

Sam makes a noncommittal sound.

With some coffee in him, Dean warms to the subject. “He keeps putting shit in weird places. I found a chunk of rock next to my toothbrush and a feather on my pillow. Oh, and there was a pine cone in my boot.”

“Better than a snake,” Sam says.

Dean ignores him. “Is he putting things in your stuff too?”

“Strangely, no,” Sam says in a voice that betrays absolutely no surprise.

Just as Dean makes a dissatisfied _hmpf_ , Cas enters the kitchen.

“Morning, Cas,” Sam says, while Dean glares at him over the rim of his cup.

“Good morning.” Cas pulls a mug of his own from the cabinet.

Cas looks tired. There are circles under his eyes and his face looks drawn. Even as Dean’s making a mental note to pick up some heavy cream to tempt him with alfredo sauce, he can’t resist grousing at him. “We’re a little low on coffee this morning since I had to waste a perfectly good cup.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah well maybe next time keep your science experiments out of my coffee mug.” Smirking, Dean looks to Sam for back-up, but Sam is studiously not making eye contact, taking great interest in buttering his weird bird-seed studded toast.

“The sea glass had been thoroughly sanitized. Neither you nor your coffee were in any danger,” Cas informs him as he scans the table. “What did you do with it?”

Dean shrugs and takes another drink. “It’s probably in the sink.”

Sam and Dean both jump when Cas’s mug bangs onto the counter. Hurrying to the sink, he scoops out the bit of glass. Once it’s been retrieved and carefully dried on the hem of his shirt, he cradles the chunk of opaque green in the palm of his hand. Dean and Sam exchange worried looks at the stricken look on Cas’s face.

Not quite meeting his eyes, Cas says softly. “My apologies, Dean.”

Before they can say anything, Cas turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen.

Dean doesn’t really understand what just happened, but Sam is looking at him with pursed lip disapproval so he follows Cas down the hall, calling after him. He trails him to the same storage closet Cas had pointedly stepped in front of the other day. Before he can catch up, Cas disappears inside and slams the door shut. Dean hears the click of the lock but he knocks and calls his name a few times anyhow.When there’s no response, he gives up and walks slowly away.

Back in the kitchen, his half-cup of coffee waits for him, cooling and forlorn. All Sam says is, “You’re smarter than this, Dean,” before leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Things have been going so well. The past few weeks have been some of the best in recent memory. For once, everyone is safe and under the same roof.Cas has his grace back and, while Dean knows his wings are damaged and his powers aren’t up to speed, the quiet time he’s had to rest seems to be helping him recover. Dean wants nothing more than to see him back at full strength, but he won’t deny that he’s selfishly breathed a little easier knowing Cas can’t just up and disappear. That guilt is part of why he’s tried to make this recuperation period comfortable for Cas, cooking for him and spending time watching movies. He’d thought Cas was pleased about it too, but he’s been keeping to himself the past few days, acting secretive and weird—well, weirder—than usual.Hell, if it weren’t for the little “gifts” he keeps finding, Dean might not even know he was in the bunker.

Dean sighs and pitches his now-cold coffee. He’s obviously done something wrong and now the poor guy can’t even get away from him without putting a locked door between them.

When Cas hears Dean walk away from the door, he kneels down on the blankets and pillows lining the floor and turns the bit of sea glass over in his hand. He’d kept Dean out of this room the other day when he’d embarked on that sudden mission to clean and reorganize. Even though there really wasn’t anything too incriminating in there at that point, he didn’t need Dean poking around the few supplies he’d already stashed inside when the tell-tale itching began.

Perhaps he’s misread all of the signals Dean has been sending. The long looks, the soft smiles, the unnecessary hand on his shoulder when he walks through a door. All of these things have intensified during the past few weeks. There have been evenings together on the couch and special treats Dean has cooked and offered to him. It all seemed to be leading up to something, but then again it always does. Each time, Cas gets his hopes up only to have them dashed.

Sam is kind to him. He’s friendly and open and always genuinely happy to see him, but it’s _different_ with Dean. Dean looks at him like he wants something but doesn’t know how to ask for it. Dean looks at him with a longing that Cas has always been able to sense in him, even when they’re apart. _Especially_ when they’re apart. What he has with Sam is completely satisfying in all ways. What he has with Dean feels incomplete.

He places the sea glass alongside the blue piece of his own which sits next to matching versions of the pine cone, barred owl feather and bronze coin. He’d considered leaving these bonding gifts for quite some time, but up until now he’s always talked himself out of it.

He pulls off his shirt and lets his wings manifest. He’d chosen this storage room because it was big enough to accommodate them while giving him the sense of containment he craves during a molt. He gives his wings a little shake to spread and flex them, but soon enough they droop as Cas curls into himself. His wings have been badly damaged and only now are they starting to return to any semblance of their former glory. He has a long way to go but they’ve recovered enough to trigger the molting process, and it’s left him distracted and reckless. That, along with the attention Dean's paid to him over the past few weeks, had tipped the scales and he’d foolishly decided the time was right.

The gifts are nothing more than trinkets, tokens to represent earth, air, water, and fire. A symbolic giving of everything to a mate, a _what’s mine is yours_. (In addition to those, he’d also left the obsidian simply because it was wild and rough and beautiful like Dean himself.)He’d let himself be encouraged when the other gifts hadn’t been returned. But perhaps Dean has tossed them aside, just as he has the sea glass.

Cas sighs. Not for the first time, he’s read a human incorrectly. Not for the first time, he sits alone with his shame.

Half-heartedly, he grooms the feathers he can reach. It’s awkward work, and an additional layer of loneliness presses down on him. Wing care and grooming have always been intertwined with comfort and community, and some of his earliest memories as a fledgling revolve around the drowsy, safe feeling of having his feathers comfortingly groomed. He’s never experienced the one-on-one grooming that occurs between a mated pair, and now that Dean has rejected his gifts, it’s unlikely he ever will.

Before long he gives up on the task completely and settles himself in the nest of blankets. With his fingers resting lightly on the two pieces of sea glass, he stares at the blank wall.

He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but what he does know is that Dean doesn’t come back.

Sam does, though, tapping lightly but firmly on the door while calling his name. Slowly, Cas gets to his feet and opens the door a crack.

“Hey,” Sam says gently, his eyes flitting over Cas’s shoulder. There’s not much to see behind him, just the shelves filled with supplies that line one wall. “I brought you some food. And some tea.” He holds it up and Cas recognizes the red and black checkered thermos he’s seen them take on road trips. “I figured you probably need to be hydrating right now. And a little protein, too, right?”

He’s not surprised that Sam has figured out what’s going on, and Cas waits for the flood of embarrassment from having been revealed in this way. Instead he feels slightly better, the weight of his secret lightened from having the knowledge shared. Gratefully, Cas pushes the door open enough to take Sam’s offerings. “Thank you, Sam. I should be back to my regular self soon.”

A crease forms between Sam’s eyebrows as he gives Cas a sympathetic look. “Sorry if my brother was an insensitive ass. I mean it _is_ a day ending in y so that’s kind of how he rolls.”

Cas manages a small smile for Sam’s benefit. “I overstepped my bounds.”

Sam looks thoughtful for a moment but then all he says is, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

The brothers leave him alone the rest of the day and the few times Cas does venture out of the storeroom, he avoids them. After a restless night, he wanders to the kitchen in the pre-dawn darkness for more food, and is startled to find Dean at the kitchen table, head pillowed on his arms. When he raises his head, there are crease marks on his cheek from his shirt sleeve.

Cas freezes when he spots him.

“Are you done hiding?” The look on Dean’s face says this isn’t what he'd intended to say but the damage is done and Cas turns away. Again, Dean is quick to pursue him. “Cas, wait.”

Cas keeps walking. He’s in no mood to have Dean explain, to “let him down gently”. Honestly, he’s surprised Dean is even making this much of an effort. This is the kind of situation for which the patented Winchester _Let’s pretend that never happened_ is tailor-made.

Dean grabs for his arm and Cas spins around to face him, pulling out of his grasp. Dean puts his hand to the back of his neck and stands there, chagrined. “I, uh, saw there was a bunch of stuff out of your room. Like, your bed is stripped.” He looks down at the floor and quietly asks, “Are you going somewhere?”

This is not what Cas expected, to see Dean so hesitant and concerned. In his confusion, all he manages to say before he turns back down the hall is, “I just need some time.”

Ten minutes later Dean is outside the door again and, from the sound of it, he’s sitting on the floor. Cas should feel trapped, maybe, or cornered. The storage room is barely big enough for his wings and now the only way out is currently blocked by the one person who manages to confound and frustrate him more than any other human he’s encountered in his considerable existence. Cas’s initial reaction is, indeed, a prickle of annoyance, but Dean must have a stack of newspapers and his phone out there because he starts to talk. It’s just a running commentary of the research he’s doing, a verbal breakdown of the articles that might potentially yield cases. Occasionally he asks Cas a question, but when he gets no response, he continues to talk or read out loud without a hint of annoyance in his voice. It leaves Cas feeling not pressured but included. He knows Dean well enough to understand that this is his apology. Maybe he doesn’t comprehend what his rejection of Cas’s gifts means, but he knows he screwed up and he’s doing his best in his limited Dean Winchester way to fix it.

Bit by bit, Cas feels himself relaxing, soothed by Dean’s voice and comforted by his presence. His wings are as good as they’re going to get and he drifts off to sleep.

Dean reads until his throat gets too dry to continue, and that’s when he suddenly realizes that his presence in the kitchen must have aborted Cas’s search for food. He tells the closed door that he’ll be back in a few minutes and gets to his feet, ignoring the pop in his right knee when he does. He cooks up a couple of eggs and makes some toast with butter and the honey Cas likes. He can’t decide between coffee and juice so he pours both, loads everything onto a tray, and carefully walks it back through the corridors. It’s going fine until he balances it in one hand so he can knock on the door. Then the coffee sloshes over the rim of the cup and he overcorrects and tips the orange juice over. He swears loudly as the fork and spoon roll off the tray and bang on to the floor.

In response, there’s a clattering clash from inside the closet that finishes with the unmistakable sound of shattered glass.

Setting the tray on the floor, Dean pounds on the door. “Cas? Are you ok? Let me in!” When there's no immediate response, he has his lock pick out of his pocket and the door opened in a matter of seconds. “You didn’t answer—“ Dean’s eyes go wide.“Oh.”

Cas is shirtless and barefoot, just a pair of Dean’s old sweatpants hanging low on his hips. But Dean almost doesn’t register his bare chest because _holy shit, wings_.

The few times Dean has seen them they’ve been imposing and dramatic but right now Cas’s wings are fluttering weakly as he’s apparently torn between covering himself with them and keeping them behind him, safe from Dean’s scrutiny.

Dean stops staring at Cas long enough to see that the contents of one entire shelf have been swept to the ground. As a result, the spicy, woodsy scent of herbs and oils permeates the space.

Cas isn’t quite making eye contact. “You startled me. I’m fine,” he says.

Dean sees bits of dried stems and seeds stuck in Cas’s wings. There are sticky and greasy patches, too, among the ragged feathers.

“Yeah, I’m gonna call bullshit on that one,” Dean says, but there’s no heat to his words. “How about I help you clean this up?”

“I can—“ Cas begins, but Dean is in fix-it mode now, and he gestures for Cas to stay back.

“There’s broken glass and you’re barefoot.” He chews his lip for a second. “Can I get…“

There’s a broom and a dustpan in the far corner of the room, but the way to it is blocked by wings. Cas turns sideways to clear a path but in the close quarters Dean still brushes against the tip of one wing.

With the broom in his hand and a straightforward job to do, Dean finds himself focused enough to ask questions. “Is that why you’re in here? A wing…thing?”

Cas’s hands are balled into fists at his sides and he keeps his eyes on the ground. “I should’ve found somewhere else to go until the molt was complete.”

Dean picks up the blankets to shake them free of herbs and slivers of glass before he finishes sweeping up. “Is that what you usually do?”

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” Cas begins but Dean cuts him off. 

“Dude, you have _wings_. What are you apologizing for?”

“My wings are disgraceful enough to begin with and now they’re soiled as well. If I put them away in this state…”

Yeah, that’s probably a recipe for disaster. Dean replaces the broom in the corner and sets the filled dustpan safely out of the way. He lays the pillows and blankets back out, keeping his back to Cas while he asks, “Is there something I can do to help?”

When he turns for a response, Cas has straightened, lifting his chin in something approaching defiance. “No, thank you.”

Dean sees them now, the matching set of gifts laid in an orderly row on the floor in the corner. Slowly he raises his gaze, lingering on Cas’s mouth in a way that makes his own pulse speed up. He reaches for the wing closest to him and when Cas doesn’t move away, he takes the tip of a feather between his finger and thumb. He swallows and says, “I can help.”

Cas gives him a long look then nods his acceptance and turns to sit on the floor. Dean rearranges the pillows and settles behind him. With an unobstructed view of his wings, Dean can see why Cas was attempting to keep them out of sight. The feathers are patchy and uneven; some have completely broken off. On top of that, they’re littered with plant matter and sticky, clumped areas from whatever was in those bottles. Bergamot oil, Dean thinks. Maybe some lemongrass and peppermint.

“You’re like a walking hex bag,” he jokes but Cas doesn’t seem amused. He clears his throat and tries again. “Ok, so, the idea here is to….?”

“Remove any debris and loosen the molting feathers.” Cas says.

Under his breath Dean repeats _remove debris_ like he’s working off a checklist. He considers for a moment then makes a tactical decision and reaches for the left wing which has taken the brunt of the spill. Using his thumb and forefinger he begins to pluck out bits of dried herbs. He works carefully, focused on being thorough.

Eventually he nudges Cas who twists to peer over his shoulder. “Look.” Dean proudly shows him the pile of gray-green stems and leaves and even some dried marigold buds cupped in his hand.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas gives his wings a little shake.

“I’m not done,” Dean says, “Those are just the big pieces.”

“I don’t want to keep you if you have other things to do.”

“How often do I get to work on wings?” He dumps the pile from his hand onto the blanket and looks around the storage closet. “So is there some sort of feather comb or something?”

“It’s more of a hands-on activity.”

“Oh,” Dean says, but it’s more a release of air than an actual word. There’s a long pause. “You’ll, uh, tell me if I do it wrong?”

Cas smiles at him. “Whatever you do will be an improvement.”

Dean tries to smile reassuringly. “Here goes nothing,” he says, mostly to himself.

Now Dean threads his fingers through the feathers, running them from the top down in an orderly pattern. Other than their breathing, the only noise is the tiny skittering sound of bits and crumbs landing on the blanket as they’re worked free. Dean’s touch is light and airy and Cas’s wings quiver a little at it. Dean pulls his hands away. “What’d I do?”

Cas lets out a soft snort. “That tickles.”

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise and he laughs out loud. “They’re ticklish?”

“They can be. Perhaps a firmer touch would be better.”

“Got it.” Ridiculously, Dean laces and flexes his fingers like he’s about to play the piano. Then he starts again, combing his hands through to separate and smooth the feathers so that they are laying neatly.“Better?” Dean asks but then he yanks his hands back. “Shit!”

Cas drops the pinecone he’s been fiddling with. He turns around to see Dean looking pale.

“One came out.” He holds up a long feather, one of Cas’s secondaries.

“That’s all right,” Cas assures him. “The old ones need to come out to make way for the new ones.”

Dean’s so busy looking at the feather that he doesn’t notice the cut on his finger.

“You’re bleeding,” Cas says, reaching for a napkin Sam had brought. Dean wipes his finger quickly.

“It’s nothing. Must’ve been a shard of glass still in there.” He checks that the bleeding has stopped before holding up the broken feather again. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really.” Cas sighs. “Molting isn’t usually such a difficult process but the poor state of my wings makes it more stressful.”

“That makes sense,” Dean answers, like he knows the first thing about wings and feathers and molting. What he does know is that Cas’s wings are definitely looking neater and smoother, and that gives him the confidence to gently work through the clumped areas. The tacky stuff is myrrh gum, he determines and luckily the bergamot oil helps keep it from sticking too much. “They feel so much different than I thought they would. Um, not that I ever thought about them before.” He coughs lightly. “I just mean I thought they’d feel like regular old feathers but it’s almost more like rippling water.”

Cas’s wings puff up a little bit at the praise.

“The color is awesome, too. Like they’re not just black. When the light hits them, they’re iridescent.” Cas must like that because his wings lift a bit more, enough so that Dean has to gently press down on the tops of them. “Ok, now I’m getting tickled.”

His confidence buoyed, it’s not long before Dean finds his rhythm and he works his way along the right wing slowly and thoroughly. Each feather gets groomed and smoothed into place, and old or broken feathers are gently removed leaving room for new ones to fill in. It must be calming because Dean can see that Cas’s shoulders have gone from rigid to relaxed and he’s slowly but surely letting his wings fall heavily against Dean, pressing into his touch. When Dean hears a soft, contented sound, he peeks over Cas’s shoulder and sees that Cas has let his eyes drift shut.

The closet is getting stuffy from their combined body heat and Dean has already shed his extra layer, leaving him in just a T-shirt. Probably working in such close quarters is to blame for Dean letting his hands find Cas’s bare skin, resting one hand on his shoulder as he angles his trailing fingers down through the feathers to skim over his lower back. Each time it happens, Cas leans back the tiniest bit more, closer to the warmth of Dean directly behind him.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says softly. His chin is almost on Cas’s shoulder. As Cas begins to turn, their faces just inches apart, there’s a knock on the door. They both jump and Dean immediately moves backwards as Cas’s wings jolt upwards in surprise.

Cas gets onto his knees to move a little closer to the door. “Yes?”

“Did you want me to take this tray? It looks like you didn’t eat very much.”

“Thank you, Sam. You can leave it there.”

“Ok.” Dean can see the toes of Sam’s shoes under the door. “You good in there?”

Cas risks a look at Dean, who is pulling his flannel back on. “I’m good.”

They wait in silence as Sam walks away.

“I should probably…” Dean starts to get to his feet and there’s an awkward little dance as Cas maneuvers his wings out of the way. “I’ll see you,” he gestures toward the door, “out there.”

“Dean,” Cas’s face is solemn. “I want you to know I would never leave something as potentially dangerous as a snake in your boot.”

Dean holds on to the doorknob for an extra moment and smiles at Cas. “I know. And I also know what movie we’re watching next when you’re up to it.” He gives a little wave before he slips out the door, the piece of green sea glass safely in his pocket.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Two days later Sam finds a solid lead.

“Three missing people in Colorado with apparently nothing in common _but_ they all had dealings with this same doctor,” he says, clicking excitedly on his laptop. “One for help quitting smoking, one for headaches, and I’m not sure what the last one was for. Worth checking out, wouldn’t you say?”

Dean shrugs. Cas is still mostly keeping to himself so maybe this is a good time to take something on. “Yeah, we could take a look. When do you want to go?”

“Uh.” Sam chews his lip, keeping his eyes on his screen. “Think you and Cas could take this one?”

Dean looks at his brother, who is trying to remain casual while refusing to make eye contact. Come to think of it, he’s looking a little pink. Dean reaches out and slaps the laptop shut.

“Dean!” Sam goes straight to bitchface.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Pushing his hair behind his ears, Sam confesses. “I made plans to go see Eileen. She’s working a case in Nebraska.”

“The fuck, Sam? You think you can just blow off cases to go see a chick? That’s not how the job works.”

Sam’s eyes widen, but he stares down at his hands while he pulls himself together. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll—”

Dean snorts. “I’ll see if Cas is up for it. If not, I’ll go check it out myself. You two crazy kids have fun.” Dean gets up and claps his brother on the shoulder on his way out of the room. “Make good choices!”

“Oh my _God_ , Dean,” he hears his brother say as he leaves.

There have been no Cas sightings this morning so Dean walks the halls toward the storage closet. He’ll make the offer and whatever Cas wants to do is fine. The last thing Dean wants to do is push him into a hunt. Maybe having both Sam and Dean gone would appeal to Cas. That way he can keep to himself without staying closed up in that small space. 

He’d stopped by to check on Cas a few times over the past two days but Cas hadn’t invited him in so he hadn’t offered any more help. In the meantime, he’d put the gifts Cas had given him safely in his room. First he’d lined them up on the shelf above his bed but something about that felt too showy so now they’re carefully tucked into a desk drawer. He still isn’t exactly sure what to make of them but probably they, along with whatever weird vibes he was getting the day Cas needed someone to groom his wings, are merely a side effect of the molt.

The storage closet door is slightly ajar and after knocking and getting no response, he pulls the door open to find that all signs of Cas’s time there are gone. Everything is neat and orderly and the sharp scent of mint has finally dissipated. He has a fleeting moment of panic at the empty space before reminding himself to check Cas’s room.

Cas opens that door in response to Dean’s knock.“Hello, Dean.”

Dean can’t stop his eyes from flicking over Cas’s shoulder to assure himself that the bare mattress has been remade into a bed. “Hey, Cas.” Cas still looks a little tired, but otherwise all right. “You good?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Good, good,” Dean says, distracted by the thought of Cas’s wings. It’s freaky to think that they’re there but not there. He can still feel the unearthly sensation as his hands rippled through the feathers.

“Did you need something?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sam caught a case but he’s got plans, so I thought you and I could go investigate?”

Cas squints. “Plans?”

Dean smiles despite himself. “He’s gonna go see Eileen.”

Cas smiles too. “Good for him.”

“Yeah, so it’s you and me this round. I mean, if you’re feeling up to it.” By the way Cas is standing a little too close and unabashedly staring at him, things definitely seem back to normal. “So, you in?”

“Of course, Dean. When are we leaving?”

“Lemme check the drive time, but early tomorrow morning should be fine.”

“I’ll be ready,” Cas promises.

They’re on the road a little after the sun comes up, avoiding the interstate to drive due west on US-36 across the flat green fields that creep gently upwards under an endless clear sky. Traffic is light, the drive is easy, and Dean keeps the music going, switching to tapes when the radio stations turn into nothing but hissing static as they near the western Kansas border.After a quick jog north to cut through the southwest corner of Nebraska, they continue west into Colorado with the Rocky Mountains finally breaking up the view. They stop at the outskirts of Greeley to change into their fed suits before arriving at the doctor’s office.

Dr. Baker’s office is on the second floor of a small, nondescript red brick professional building. At just before eleven o’clock, the sun is high in the sky and the parking lot is already quite full.

“Just let me do the talking,” Dean reminds Cas once they’ve parked. “You’ve got your badge, right?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean reaches across and pats Cas’s breast pocket, freezing when he realizes there’s no badge there, just Cas’s firm pectoral muscle. And perhaps the slightest hint of a hardening nipple.

Cas reaches down and pulls his badge out of his front pants pocket, holding it up between them.

Dean pulls his hand away and makes an awkward motion that falls somewhere between an affirming point at Cas and a thumbs up.

When they get out of the Impala, Dean gives Cas a quick once over, just like he would if he and Sam were working a case. Can’t go impersonating an FBI agent if you’ve forgotten to switch out of your boots or your fly is down. (Cas’s fly isn’t down, it turns out.)

Dean nods his approval and they enter the building through double glass doors. Inside, Dean jabs the button to summon the elevator while checking out his surroundings. The building houses a number of offices, and a smattering of professionally dressed people move through the lobby. As the elevator doors slide closed behind them, Dean sees that somehow between the car and the building, Cas’s tie has managed to flip itself over. Despite having the elevator to themselves, Cas is practically standing in his personal space, so it’s easy enough for Dean to reach over and fix it. He does so just as the doors open again to a reception area where a pretty blonde sits behind a tall desk. Hurriedly, Dean finishes smoothing the straightened tie and drops his hand.

Sizing up the receptionist, Dean puts on his most charming smile and strides purposefully toward her with Cas in his wake. Watching them approach, she finger combs her hair, looking bored and frowning at some fuzz that she pulls out and discards. Dean has a hand reaching into his jacket pocket for his badge when the receptionist, apparently having sized them up as well, asks, “Looking for Dr. Baker?”

With no need for sweet-talk, Dean gives his best professional nod and she points to a door behind her desk. “End of the hall, then turn right.”

Dean thanks her and they head down the hallway, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting on the other side of the door. “Guess we aren’t the first agents to come around,” Dean reasons.

“I suppose so.” Cas says as they pass an ornately framed painting on the wall. “This is a very nice doctor’s office.”

Following the receptionist’s direction, they turn right when the hallway ends. Maybe a dozen people are milling around inside a large conference room. Dean stops with Cas right on his heels and they both look around.

“You’re here for Dr. Baker?” A middle-aged woman beckons them into the room.

“Yes,” Cas answers when Dean is distracted checking for other doors off this hallway.

“Come on in, we’ll get started in another few minutes.” The woman smiles kindly at them.

“I’m afraid—“ Cas begins but Dean is looking over the woman’s shoulder into the room and puts a hand on his arm.

“Thank you so much.” Dean smiles broadly at her as he guides Cas into the room.

“I don’t think we’re in the right place,” Cas says quietly.

“We’re in, aren’t we? And check it out.” Dean nods toward the back of the room.

The conference room has the requisite large table and enough chairs to go around it, but instead of dominating the room, it’s been rearranged. The chairs line the walls, leaving the majority of the floor space open and the table has been pushed against the far wall and covered with a fresh white tablecloth.An urn of coffee along with pitchers of orange juice and water sit on one end of the table. The rest of the surface is covered by a variety of pastries laid out on silver trays.

Dean charts a direct course to the table, carefully sidestepping the people standing and chatting in pairs and small groups.The group is about half men and half women and they range from what looks like mid-twenties to a couple probably in their early sixties. By the time Cas catches up to him, he’s already poured two cups of coffee. A couple standing nearby, already armed with their own drinks, smiles as Dean pours cream from a small glass pitcher into both cups, then stirs sugar into one and passes it to Cas.

“This is the good stuff,” he says and takes a quick drink before advancing on the food.

Cas sips at his coffee and glances around the room until Dean returns with his coffee in one hand, a muffin in the other, and a cheese danish between his teeth. Sighing, Cas picks up a plate from the stack on the table and silently hands it to him.

Still chewing away, Dean places his baked goods on the plate then sets down his cup so he can pile on a few more for good measure. He takes a large drink of coffee to wash down the danish before reaching for a mini-muffin and offering it to Cas.

“Want one?” Cas shakes his head but Dean holds it up higher, almost in front of Cas’s face. “It’s blueberry, so it’s practically like eating fruit.”

When Cas thanks him and takes the muffin from his hand, Dean grins at him and reaches back to his plate for a small chocolate-drizzled croissant.

Cas finishes the muffin in two quick bites. “What do you think this group is?”

“I dunno,” Dean admits, halfway through his croissant.The mood in the room is friendly, but a little subdued. Dean gets the feeling that these people haven’t met before and he can see some people clearly making introductions and shaking hands. “But if it’s getting us face time with the good doc then I say we roll with it.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” 

The woman who welcomed them into the room is now making the rounds with a stack of name tags and a pen. Cas nods in her direction as he steps a little closer to Dean to let the one grey-haired woman in the group approach the food. “What names are we using?

Before Dean can answer, the woman inserts herself into their conversation. “That’s a tricky one, isn’t it?” She gestures to an older man who has now joined them. “I know the young people today don’t like to give up their names. And hyphenating can be so clunky. I went traditional and took his name, but I’ve even heard of men taking their wives’ last names.”

While Cas squints at them, Dean swallows down the last of his croissant with a gulp that leaves him coughing.

“Oh, this is a second marriage for both of us,” she continues, like that explains everything. “We want to be sure to get off to a good start.”

The man, her husband, nods. “There is much work to be done,” he says almost robotically.

She switches her glass of juice to her left hand and extends the right one. “I’m Sheila and this is my husband Roger.”

Cas is the only one with a free hand so he shakes it. With no other plan in place, he uses their real names. “I’m Castiel and this is Dean.”

Dean has recovered enough to set down his plate and mug. He starts to reach out his hand but stops. “Uh, sorry, I’m a little sticky.”

Cas pivots around and uses the pitcher of water to wet a napkin for him. Dean accepts it gratefully and wipes his fingers.

“So, how did you resolve the name situation?” Sheila asks.

Without looking at Cas, Dean says, “We’re both Winchesters.”

Just then, a man strides into the room. He has a full head of silver hair and he’s dressed in dark slacks and a corduroy blazer complete with leather patches on the sleeves. Dean recognizes him as Dr. Baker from the research Sam showed him. Now Dean realizes that perhaps he should’ve read through the links Sam emailed more thoroughly. Or, you know, maybe at all. Smoking cessation, stress headaches…this doctor is clearly a psychologist and he and Cas have apparently walked right into one of his marriage counseling groups.

The room quiets as he enters and everyone turns to face him. When the woman with the name tags reaches their knot of people, Cas takes two and fills them both out before handing back the pen. He unsticks Dean’s tag from the backing and holds it out to him as the doctor welcomes them.

“Thank you all for joining me here today. No matter what stage of life you are in, a new relationship brings with it its own special set of challenges. I applaud you all for making the choice to be here, in essence making the choice to make your relationship a priority. To get the most out of this day, you will need to put in some effort of your own. The key here is openness and honesty. By giving yourself permission to communicate freely with your partner, you are building a rock-solid foundation on which your love can deepen and grow.”

Around the room, couples are smiling at each other, some broadly, some shyly. Others are now holding hands. Like he’s downing a shot of whiskey, Dean grabs a mini lemon tartlet and pops it into his mouth, chewing it aggressively. Cas stands stock still alongside him.

Dean leans in. “Ok, we watch him, look for anything suspicious, anyone he’s paying special attention to. He could use these groups to find people who are unhappy and vulnerable.”

Cas gives the briefest of nods, his eyes still on the doctor.

“Let’s start with some affirmation.”

Dean lets out the smallest of groans.

Dr. Baker directs them to each take a chair and sit facing their partner. Dean pulls out a chair for himself, then helps bring a few other chairs out to the middle of the room mostly to keep himself busy. When everyone has a seat, he returns to his own place across from Cas.

“This is a simple exercise to get things started on a positive note. I want each of you to give your partner three compliments. One about their physical self, one about their personality, and one about the way they make you feel.”

Dean grips the arms of his chair and looks somewhere over Cas’s left shoulder. They’ve set up their chairs in the back corner of the room, not far from the food table, and they’ve positioned their chairs so that they have a view of the entire room even while facing each other. “We can just….pretend to do this stuff,” Dean whispers.

The other couples are diligently performing this task. Cas can see Sheila covering her face with her hand while Roger speaks, but she’s smiling. One young couple appears to be speaking very earnestly to each other, and she has her hand on the side of his face as he talks. Dr. Baker walks slowly around the room stopping to listen and make brief, encouraging comments as he passes each couple.

Before too long, he spots them in the corner and makes his way over. Reading from their name tags, he introduces himself to them, putting a welcoming hand on Cas’s shoulder that Dean wishes he’d move.“How is this going for the two of you?”

Dean slouches a little in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. “We did it already. No problemo.”

“Wonderful,” the doctor says. “I’d love to hear an example.”

“Well, uh, we prefer to keep this sort of thing private,” Dean says, smirking a little.

“I see.” The doctor nods. “That’s certainly your choice—and a valid one at that—but I will say that you are bound to get more out of this seminar if you’re willing to let some of those barriers down because—“

“I’ll share mine,” Cas says and suddenly Dean is sitting upright in his chair again. Cas locks eyes with him then says, “Physically, I like watching you work with your hands.”

Hands. Why does Dean even have the stupid things? He wants to stuff his hands into his pockets but he’s worried that will call more attention to them so he clenches the arm rests a little more tightly.

“As for your personality,” Cas continues and oh God he’s going to do all three. “You go out of your way to help people.”

“Really good, Castiel,” the doctor interjects. “Can you make that stronger by using a specific instance?”

Dean silently wills Cas not to use anything hunting related but Cas is already nodding. “Even here today you helped the others get chairs instead of merely getting one for yourself.”

Dean lets out a relieved breath at this safe example but then he immediately feels guilty because what Cas is calling helping people was really just a way for him to avoid this exercise.

“Finally, I appreciate it when you take the time to explain things to me.”

Dean snorts a little at that one. Even though Metatron filled Cas’s head with pop culture knowledge it seems Dean has even more explanations to give, aided by the fact that Cas now knows what questions to ask.

“Thank you, Castiel, that was very well done.” The doctor turns to Dean. “I know it must make you feel good to hear him say these things, so now it’s your turn to do the same for him.” He looks at Dean expectantly, but not unkindly.

Dean flickers his glance to Cas, who wears the same expectant expression. “Uh.” Okay, it’s not like Dean has never thought about Cas in terms of his physical attributes but then sometimes he gets weirded out trying to figure out what’s Cas and what’s Jimmy and…”Your eyes are really blue. Like really, really blue.”

“Ok, so that’s a great start,” the doctor affirms. “Now for this next one, try to make it a little less like a factual statement and a little more like a compliment.”

Dean prays for a hellhound to suddenly bound out from under the tablecloth. He thinks about Cas always toting a book around the bunker and the times he’s spent staring at his profile while he’s absorbed in whatever he happens to be reading. “You, um, always like to learn new things.” He looks back at the doctor who has his eyebrows raised, waiting.“Which is cool,” he adds and the doctor rewards his effort with a smile.

He’s saved from more when the woman who handed out the name tags comes in with folder of papers for the doctor and he leaves their side to attend to them. Dean relaxes a little and blows out a long breath.

“Well that was—“ he’s about to say _lame_ when he realizes Cas is watching him, expression soft and, if he’s not mistaken, a little bit _pleased_. Pretending not to notice, he gets up to refill his coffee.

They’re all encouraged to move their chairs into a circle for the next part of the presentation which thankfully involves the good doctor lecturing at them for awhile. Dean takes the opportunity to zone out on what is being said and study the assembled couples, looking for anyone the doctor is taking a special interest in. Cas, on the other hand, is listening attentively. Dean wants to knock his knee into Cas’s to get him back on track, but their chairs are far enough apart that the whole circle would see it happen, so he slowly inches his chair a little closer. The woman on the other side of him smiles knowingly and leans into her partner a little bit. Scanning the room again, he realizes the rest of the couples all have a lot less personal space between them and congratulates himself on playing the role full tilt.

Cas, a less experienced actor, nearly jumps in surprise when Dean’s leg brushes his. His head swivels to look at their legs and then at Dean’s face. While another couple is sharing an example of a time a simple miscommunication led to a fight, he leans in to whisper in Cas’s ear.

“You gettin’ a vibe on anyone here?”

Back to watching the group proceedings, Cas just shakes his head, but Dean is close enough that he gets the briefest brush of stubble against his lips and he sits back in his seat like he’s been shocked. Truth be told, his mouth continues to tingle from that fleeting skim of roughness and it’s all he can do not to touch his fingers to his lip to put a stop to it.

This session is followed by a break while the blonde receptionist and the name tag lady swap out the pastries on the table for a lunch buffet. Dean is the first one at the table, already loading his plate before he realizes that Cas is still standing near the ring of chairs chatting with Sheila and Roger. A few other couples are gravitating toward the table, one woman rubbing her partner’s shoulders as they stand and wait their turn. _Couples, right_. Dean makes his way along the table, selecting from the meats and cheeses quickly but carefully.

He returns to Cas’s side and holds out the plate, nudging Cas near his elbow with it. When he finally has Cas’s attention, he offers it up. “I made you a sandwich.” Cas goes into heavy duty squint mode. “No tomatoes and extra mustard, just like you like.”

Slowly Cas reaches for the plate. “Thank you, Dean.”

Roger leans in. “If I ask her to make me a sandwich, I get a ten-minute lecture on women’s lib.”

“Dean is…very thoughtful,” Cas says, even as he lifts up the top piece of rye bread to examine what’s underneath. Finding no fault with what’s there, he adds, “Unusually so.”

Dean preens a little while Sheila rolls her eyes and takes her husband by the arm. “Come along, Dean. If you get in line behind Roger, I can’t promise there’ll be much left.”

As they walk away, Dean turns back to Cas. “Um, I wasn’t sure if you wanted coleslaw or potato salad, so I got you both. Oh! I’ll grab you a fork when I get mine.”

Cas blinks after him, then sits down to try his sandwich.

Once lunch has been enjoyed, Dr. Baker instructs them to move chairs again so they’re sitting opposite their partners. Dean and Cas resume their position in the back corner and confer quickly, both in agreement that nothing unusual or out of place has happened today.

“How long do we stay here?” Cas ventures. “Maybe this isn’t a lead after all.”

The lunch plates are being loaded onto a cart at the opposite end of the table, but the blonde stops what she’s doing to give them a sharp look. Dean glares back at the clearly intolerant woman and sets a hand on Cas’s shoulder for good measure.

“Seems rude to leave in the middle,” he mutters. He gives the blonde one last dirty look before turning to find out their next assignment.

“This morning we worked on the actual words we say to each other, focusing on how the words we choose and the way we frame them impact the message that is sent. For this exercise, we will focus on the non-verbal ways we communicate. That includes things like eye contact, facial expression, and body language. Please start by facing your partner directly.”

There’s a scraping of chairs as the group complies.

“Now, remember the three compliments you used this morning?”

A ripple of laughter circulates the room.

“You don’t need to repeat them word for word, but I’d like you to say them again to each other, this time taking into account the non-verbal messages you are sending. You’ll find that these can work either to enhance or undermine the words you say.”

So Dean turned down his chance to leave and now he gets to relive this particular visit to awkwardville. But he heard rumor of an ice cream sundae bar later in the afternoon and well, he’s suffered more for less.

“You wanna go first again?”

“All right.” Cas is already sitting with precise posture, but somehow he straightens up a little taller. He fixes Dean with a steady gaze and even though Dean knows what’s coming, it still causes his stomach to gently flip. “I like watching you work with your hands.” When his words are done, he looks at Dean’s hands which are resting palm down on his thighs and then ever-so-slowly trails his eyes back up again.

Dean feels his palms start to sweat and he looks down at his hands himself. As the embarrassment creeps through him, reddening his face, he lifts his hands and waggles his fingers, producing something frighteningly close to jazz hands. “Yeah ok, hands, got it. Moving on.” Discomfort makes it come out a little more gruff than he’d intended. He darts his eyes around the room and finds the doctor talking to another couple about what looks like proper eye contact. When he glances back at Cas, he’s slightly slumped in his seat, his face blank. Still trying to work out what to do with his hands, he runs one through his hair and gestures at Cas to continue.

Gamely, Cas straightens for his next attempt but Dean can see the frustration in the tight set of his jaw. Angry for causing it with his own embarrassment, Dean feels himself start to close off. They’re sitting in silence, nearly glaring at each other when the doctor approaches.

He looks between them then claps his hands together. “Ok, gentleman. I see we have some work to do. Let’s start by loosening up a little.” He gestures to their coats. “Let’s take those off, for starters.”

Cas tugs off his own coat one sleeve at a time and Dean follows.

“Ties, too.”

Dean reaches for the knot in his, but Dr. Baker stops him. “How about taking off each others?”

Dean starts to protest but Cas is reaching for him, leaning into his space while his fingers skim just under Dean’s chin, leaving that same sparking heat.

“Dean?” the doctor prompts, and Dean somehow coordinates his hands to unravel the knot on the Cas’s tie, all too conscious of the line of his neck as Cas tips his head back a little to accommodate him.

“Much better! Now, Castiel, I saw you sharing one of your compliments, correct?” Cas nods. “Then Dean, let’s have it be your turn.”

“He was gonna do another one.” Dean is apparently six years old. He’ll be outright tattling next.

“Taking turns is key to good communication,” the doctor assures him as he moves to stand at Cas’s shoulder so that they are both looking at him now. “Is this…typical for him?” The question is directed to Cas.

Cas studies Dean for a moment before turning back to the doctor. “He has many avoidance techniques, yes.”

That’s when Dean realizes that he’s got his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He’s caught between wanting to let them drop to his sides to play along and keeping them right where they are because _who the hell is this guy to tell him what to do?_ Plus, what the fuck does Cas mean by that? Avoidance techniques? More like stay alive strategies. There’s no room for hand-holding-feelings-circles in their lives. He’s still bristling when the doctor makes his next suggestion: “I think the two of you could benefit from a mirroring exercise.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut while Cas looks attentively at the doctor.

“The exercise is simple. Facing each other, one of you will take the lead while the other simply watches and mirrors.” When Cas squints at him, the doctor helps him to his feet. “Just follow my lead,” he says and begins a series of slow, subtle motions that Cas copies: swaying slightly side to side, turning his head in one direction and then the other. Cas nods his understanding and is directed back to his seat. “Castiel, you take the lead first.”

Cas sits with his hands folded in his lap and, belatedly, Dean moves to copy him. Cas leans a little to one side, then the other, and Dean does his best to keep up despite the almost crushing awkwardness inherent in the situation. Everything feels jerky and weird until Cas shifts forward a little and suddenly his legs are pressing against Dean’s. In surprise, Dean looks directly at Cas and feels himself lean forward, pressing into Cas as well. Their eyes lock and it’s like their entire bodies connect on one current and Dean moves in concert with Cas, nearly anticipating his every move.

“Good, good,” the doctor says softly, obviously pleased. “Remember, this is your partner, the person you’ve chosen to go through life with. You’re a team and teams need to work together.”

They are a team, Dean thinks. Apart from Sam, there’s no one Dean would rather have when it’s time to face down danger. He trusts that Cas will be there, that they have the same goals. He trusts Cas with his life.

He feels himself relaxing here in this private world with Cas where there’s no thought, just a soothing call and response of fluid motion. When Cas raises one hand, palm out, Dean doesn’t hesitate to lift his own to meet it, leaving a breath of space between them.

It’s not until the doctor lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder that he’s jolted back into the present and realizes he’s basically acting out a mime in a box.

“Ok, Dean, try your compliment now,” the doctor prompts.

“Your eyes,” he begins, really looking at them and finding himself trying to find a comparison that captures the depth of color that is staring back at him. Words fail him but he’s smiling now and he’s warmed by the way Cas’s eyes crinkle in the corners as he smiles back. “Seriously blue, man.”

The doctor pats him on the shoulder and it dawns on Dean then that the person the doctor is spending the most time with is _him_.

“This gives me an idea,” the doctor murmurs. He gets the group’s attention as he makes his way back to the front of the room. “Everyone, please put your chairs back and stand with your partner.” He picks up a phone mounted on the wall and pushes a few buttons, but frowns and hangs up when no one answers.

Dean and Cas carefully take their chairs back to the side of the room, their suit coats resting on the seat backs. When the group reassembles, the doctor casts a fond look their way. “A mirroring exercise with one of our couples reminded me of another great body language exercise.” He reaches for the phone again. “I’m going to need some music first.” This call also goes unanswered and he hangs up again, shrugging. “We will have to make do!” He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and taps at it until some music begins to play. The cell phone speaker doesn’t carry the sound far, but Dean can make out the strains of _I Only Have Eyes For You_ from the back of the room.

“Dancing,” Dr. Baker says with a blissful look, “is one of the purest nonverbal expressions of passion and love. I said _one of_ “ he adds with his eyebrows raised when the room erupts into snickers and snorts.

Dean starts to say _this is not happening_ but Cas turns to him with a shy, hopeful smile and the words, while fully formed in his brain, die somewhere on the way to his mouth. He scowls a little. “Your dad give you dancing lessons? Cause mine sure as hell didn’t.”

Cas shrugs a shoulder, unconcerned. “Dancing is easy, Dean. It’s simply rhythm and geometry.” He reaches a hand to Dean’s waist and Dean finds himself shuffling in toward Cas. “A repeated pattern set to a steady beat.”Cas reaches for his hand and laces their fingers together, even as he firmly tugs him closer until their hips nearly touch and their faces are inches apart. Dean blinks, his other hand still hanging down at his side. He can feel his face redden and he’s conscious of every place they’re touching: their entwined fingers and pressed palms, the broad splay of Cas’s hand on Dean’s lower back, the toes of their shoes. It feels like the earth has slowed its spin as he lifts his arm to rest his hand on Cas, curving his fingers around his shoulder. In his peripheral vision Dean can see other couples swaying together, bodies close as they turn in tight circles. He and Cas are still standing motionless and his pulse thudding in his ears nearly drowns out the soft music.

The spell breaks when the intermittent vibration that Dean’s been ignoring turns into the sustained buzz that means he’s getting an incoming call. Blindly, he fumbles his phone out of his pants pocket and sees Sam’s name. “Yeah,” he answers.

“I got a call from the lead detective in Greeley.” Sam sounds urgent. “They found all three bodies and each one had huge chunks of missing flesh. I’m thinking ghoul or maybe rugaru?“

“Shit,” Dean hisses, grabbing his coat from the seat back and indicating to Cas that he should do the same. It all comes together in his mind. The pretty blonde. The dead bug in her hair. The super human hearing that he mistook for intolerance. “Rakshasa. We’re on it.” On their way out the door, he stops to shake the doctor’s hand. “Family emergency. Gotta run.”

The doctor sets his other hand on top of their clasped hands. “Cherish each other. You’re both worth it.”

Ridiculously, Dean’s heart skips a beat in his chest and then they’re out the door and hurtling down the hall, catching a flash of blonde hair as the elevator door closes. Cas finds the stairwell first and they shove through the door, feet pounding down the steps to race the elevator, but it’s already empty. They spin to look at their surroundings, at the few people filtering through the lobby before spotting a bright red car tearing out of the lot.

They run to the Impala, clambering in and pulling out to the street in pursuit.

In the parking lot, a man stands in the shadow of the building watching as the tail lights of the Impala zoom down the road. Sighing, he drops another candy wrapper onto the small pile growing at his feet.


	4. Chapter 4

The rakshasa might be clever, but the red sports car is a rookie mistake. Dean follows at a distance that easily keeps it in sight without forcing a high speed pursuit. The car heads west out of Greeley and still Dean follows, nearly oblivious to the way the edge of the Great Plains gives way to rolling hills, and thick trees diminish into scrub-covered rocky outcrops. They climb upwards along winding two-lane roads, a cat and mouse game as the sun sinks lower. 

Dean steers through a sweeping left-hand curve to find nothing but an empty straight-away stretching before him. He’s about to floor it to gain some ground when Cas says his name sharply and points off to the right. The rakshasa has turned off, bumping along something better described as a trail than a road. Almost past the turn, Dean squeals the Impala’s tires as he skids and fishtails in behind. Swearing, Dean holds the car steady as it bounces and jolts through the cloud of dust kicked up by the red car. Even Cas winces at the sound of rocks smacking into the undercarriage. 

They’re out of sight of the main road when the trail narrows and the red car is forced to stop. When the rakshasa gets out to flee on foot, Dean slams on the brakes. Blond hair flowing behind her, she crosses in front of her car, taking off to the right. Cas is immediately out of the Impala chasing after her.

“Cas, wait!” Dean scrambles to open the trunk, yanking open the false bottom and pulling out a brass knife. He follows Cas, stumbling on the uneven terrain and leaping over low bushes until he crests a rise just in time to see the rakshasa swing hard at Cas, dropping him to his knees. 

Fueled by a fresh spike of adrenaline, Dean tackles her before she can pounce on Cas but she rolls out of his grasp and knocks the knife away. It spins out of sight into the straggly grass. Cas looks a little dazed as he gets to his feet again but he’s still able to fight and, with just a look between them, they set up their next move. Cas shifts into position to regain her attention and distract her from Dean, which frees him up to retrieve the knife. Cas lures her so that Dean can stay in her blind spot and he moves stealthily until he finds the knife where it's half-concealed in the scrub. 

They exchange another look but this time she catches it and swivels to see Dean approaching. With Dean now in her sights, Cas lunges after her but with her superhuman strength, she grabs Cas and throws him to the ground. With the unmistakable crack of bone echoing in the air, Dean sinks the knife into her back.  

With one eye on the rakshasa to make sure it stays down, Dean moves to Cas’s side. He’s lying on his back, one arm flung over his eyes. His face is pale and contorted with pain.

Dean crouches beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘You ok, man?”

Cas nods, but he doesn’t speak.

“Is your leg…?” 

“I was able to heal the break.” Cas’s voice is tight with pain but Dean’s pulse begins to calm as he helps Cas sit up. There’s still a red welt on his cheek from where she hit him but he seems otherwise unhurt. 

“Ok,” Dean says in relief. “Ok.” He checks that the rakshasa is well and truly dead before pulling the knife back out and wiping it on the ground. 

Catching his breath, Dean assesses their situation. They’re in the middle of nowhere with a car and a body. And not the good kind of middle of nowhere. Too rocky for digging. Barely enough brush to use for a fire to burn the body or to conceal the car. Maybe Cas can drive the red car out so they can ditch it someplace inconspicuous and dispose of the body properly. He turns to propose this idea and sees Cas limping badly.

“I thought you healed it.” He hurries back to Cas’s side. 

“It appears this was the best I could do. My grace is still…recovering.” Cas looks apologetic.

“Fucking _great_.” This is all his fault. If they’d gone in and done a proper investigation this never would have happened. Instead he spent the day playing house with Cas and look at where that left them. The image of Cas being thrown to the ground plays over and over in his head and, when he does manage to focus on the present, he sees Cas right in front of him, bruised and limping.

“Yeah. You’re perfect.” Dean stomps back to the Impala to put away the knife. They can siphon the gas out of the red car and use it to burn the body. It’s messy and risky and there’s no question the local cops are going to eventually find the abandoned car and the remains, but at least they’ll be long gone by then. 

This is the punishment he gets for fucking around on the job. Case or no case, his father never would have tolerated the way he and Cas spent the afternoon. It doesn’t help to realize that each time Cas questioned their presence there, it had been Dean’s decision to stay. Dean should know better. He got selfish and lazy and someone got hurt. And not just anyone. Cas.

He turns to apologize and is met again with the sight of Cas’s bruised face. A new wave of guilt courses through him. “You should’ve waited until I had the knife,” he snaps. 

“I’m sorry—“

Dean cuts him off with a curt wave of his hand. Great. He’s fucked this up so badly that Cas is now apologizing to _him_. 

By the time the body is taken care of the sun is nearly down, the temperature has noticeably dropped, and the clear sky is now hemmed in by quick-moving clouds. Dean’s changed back out of his suit and he checks that everything is back in the Impala’s trunk before slamming it shut. In silence, he reverses the car slowly along the trail until it meets the road. No cars are in sight so he swings onto it to wind back down the way they came. 

It’ll be the middle of the night by the time they get back to Lebanon.

A few miles of blacktop therapy calms him enough to try and makes things right with Cas. “You feeling ok? Need something for your leg?”

“I’m fi—,” Cas starts to say, then stops. “I don’t need anything.” He turns away from Dean to look out his window.

Dean sighs. This day has entirely gone to shit. He knows they were just acting today. He knows it was fake and it was lame but, nonetheless, he’s still surprised by just how easy it was. Pretending to be _with_ Cas didn’t take that much more effort than being around Cas generally takes. He wonders what it was like for Cas. Most likely, Cas was simply doing his part, playing along and following the doctor’s instructions. He probably doesn’t even get that it was a weird thing for them to be doing. Dean should definitely address that.

“So today was….different.” He keeps his eyes on the road as he speaks.

“It was,” Cas agrees tentatively, as if he’s on guard already. Good job, Dean.

“Sam and I used to get that sometimes. People assuming we were a couple.”

“You did?” Cas asks, turning to look at him.

Dean shrugs. “Yeah and sometimes it helped us with a case so we’d just sort of go with it. Plus it was always fun to mess with Sam a little bit.” Dean takes his eyes off the road to look at Cas. _It doesn’t mean anything_ , Dean plans to say but he thinks of Cas leaning forward, warm fingers loosening the knot in Dean’s tie. It was a single moment that seemed to stretch out indefinitely. The entire seminar was made up of those strange bits of warped time and the reason Dean is so pissed at himself for how things went down is because he hadn’t wanted it to end. “I don’t think Sam would’ve put up with a whole day of it, though.” 

Cas is staring at him directly now and really, Dean’s eyes should be on the road. As always, Cas seems to understand what he isn’t able to say. He says with utter sincerity, “I enjoyed our time there.”

Warm with Cas’s words, Dean smiles as he focuses on the meandering road again. From the corner of his eye, he can see Cas smiling as well. “Food was good, too.”

Somehow Cas manages not to roll his eyes. “Yes, Dean, it was.”

With the tension between them broken, Dean blows out a breath. “Man, Sam would’ve had a field day with this. There are some things he does _not_ need to know.”

Maybe it’s his imagination, but Cas seems to deflate a little of that. His smile fades and he turns partly away. “Of course, Dean.”

Dean’s saved from figuring out what to say next when a few snowflakes begin to fall, swirling in a sudden gust of wind.

“Thought we’d be safe from storms in May, but…” Another gust of wind blows harder and Dean puts both hands on the steering wheel to keep the car steady.

The tall trees lining either side of the road bow and sway as the wind picks up. Cas jumps a little when a branch breaks off and skitters across the pavement in front of them.

“Friggin’ global warming,” Dean mutters as he switches on the wipers to deal with the icy droplets now pelting the windshield.

Conditions steadily worsen as the storm moves in from the north. Although sunset is still maybe an hour away, visibility is down to almost nothing. Cas sits rigidly beside him keeping alert for downed branches or stopped traffic and helping to look for the white line on the side of the road to keep them on course.

Dean frowns with concentration. “I might need to pull over and wait this one out.”

Before he can make that decision, the engine sputters and, after a few valiant attempts to get it started again, cuts out completely.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean smacks the steering wheel in frustration, then immediately puts a gentle hand on the dashboard. “Sorry, Baby.”

Luckily there’s enough of a break in the storm for them to get out safely. Cas keeps watch while Dean checks out the undercarriage for rock damage and looks under the hood. Despite everything apparently being in working order, the car won’t start. Keeping one eye out for traffic, Cas hobbles a little way up and down the deserted road but is unable to get any sort of signal on his phone. Turning up his collar against the cold wind, he makes his way back to join Dean. With his hands shoved in his pockets, Cas shakes his head, and Dean scrubs a hand over his face.

“Ok, let’s get her off the road at least.”

With some effort they push the car off to the side of the road and now Dean is sweating even though his hands and ears verge on freezing. They stand next to the broken down car but not another vehicle passes by. Dean can’t recall the last time they saw a house or a building, much less a sign for a town. There’s nothing but thick forest, with evergreen branches drooping from the sudden onslaught of icy precipitation. Beside him, Cas hugs himself to keep warm.

They’re discussing the merits of staying with the car or walking for help when Cas spots something up ahead. He points to a bit of dark red showing through the falling snow, up past where he walked earlier. Moving toward it, they discover a small cabin nestled under some trees. Maybe the wind was driving the snow in such a direction that Cas didn’t see it before or maybe it’s set back just enough to not be easily noticed from the road, but whatever the reason, its presence is a fortuitous relief.Heads bent against the biting, whipping snow, they trudge through the dusk toward it. Dean walks in front of Cas to block the wind a little and step through the crust of ice forming so that Cas can limp more easily across it.

On the front step they’re still stomping the snow and slush off their shoes when a singular gust of wind hits them and the door swings open with a loud creak. They quickly move out of the storm and Cas pushes the door shut behind them. The cabin is chilly and smells musty but it’s a definite improvement over being outside. Dean flicks the light switch by the door but nothing happens. He tries one in the galley kitchen too but there’s no electricity. There is, however, a wood burning stove in the corner of the living room. Dean opens the front grate to check but all that’s left inside are ashes.

Dean pats his pockets then swears. “I’ll go back to the car for flashlights. You check around inside and see what there is.”

Snow swirls through the doorway as Dean slips back outside.

In the fading daylight, Cas starts in the kitchen. The tap sputters and spits out rusty water so he lets it run while he checks for food. Most of the cabinets are empty but he finds a couple of cans of soup and one of Spaghettios, a jar a peanut butter, a box of saltines with one unopened sleeve, a handful of hot cocoa packets and a mostly full bag of Tootsie Rolls. He turns the knob on the stove and smells gas. At least they’ll be able to light the burner to heat the soup. The water is running clear by the time he turns it off.

The cabin is tiny, probably used as a base for hunting trips, and the fine layer of dust on every horizontal surface says that it hasn’t been used at all in quite some time. The bedroom has a double bed, an empty chest of drawers, and a closet that contains nothing more than a few wire hangers and a plastic bin full of bedding. The bathroom is bare but functional and the living room has a love seat, a chair, and the aforementioned stove. Cas has opened every drawer and cabinet he can find but he’s unearthed nothing else of any use. He eases himself onto the chair to take the weight off his bad leg.

As the storm continues to rage outside, the temperature inside the cabin drops. Even as he sees traces of his breath in the air, Cas is grateful for the few minutes alone. As often happens when he’s by Dean’s side, it’s been a long, confusing day.

This confusion is as familiar as it is unwelcome. Time and time again, Cas feels a closeness grow between them, real and charged and nearly palpable enough to convince Cas that Dean shares his feelings. Dean’s confession always feels a moment away, but again and again it hovers just out of reach. While Cas waits for that moment to arrive, maybe with the next word or the next heartbeat, something invariably comes between them: a brother, a case, always more impending doom and gloom.

Cas can’t take the weight of the world from Dean’s shoulders, not when it’s a self-imposed burden. Despite the mixed messages, he knows Dean cares about him and it’s probably for the best if Cas can content himself with the limited ways in which he can express it.

It feels like the temperature drops both inside and out as the warm sparks from this afternoon are replaced with dull despondency and doubt. Each time that Cas waits for something that never comes, he finds himself falling a little deeper into despair. Today was particularly difficult because he knows Dean let himself enjoy it. They both had. But just as Dean doesn’t understand the implications of accepting his gifts or touching his wings, Cas clearly doesn’t understand the nuances of what happened today.Despite the dancing and kind words, Dean was adamant that these moments need to stay hidden.

To shake himself out of his funk he gets back to his feet to look outside. Maybe he can find a woodpile or some sort of shed. In the driving snow, he stands on the front step for a long moment to look for the beam of Dean’s flashlight, but there’s no sign of him yet. Keeping one hand on the rough wood of the cabin, Cas moves around the exterior. The snow isn’t deep but it’s slushy and icy and the whipping wind seems to blow the snow in every direction at once.Head ducked against the roaring wind, he slowly circles the entire structure but there’s nothing new to be found. Dean still hasn’t returned and Cas feels a prickle of concern at how long he’s been gone.

The car isn’t that far away and it shouldn’t have taken Dean this much time, especially with a flashlight to guide him back. He tries to look toward the road for any sign of him, but he has to shield his face and turn away from the scouring ice. As he turns, there’s a lull in the wind and he sees the olive green of Dean’s jacket against the white snow. He’s lying on the ground about thirty feet from the cabin.

Calling his name, Cas rushes toward him but the wind carries his voice away. He ignores the pain in his leg as he scrambles forward, feet slipping. It isn’t until he’s only a few feet away that Dean lifts his head. Heart pounding, Cas crouches down to help him up, but Dean’s eyes are glassy and he can’t seem to organize his movements. As Cas pulls him up, he realizes Dean’s jeans are soaking wet and freezing over. He pulls Dean’s arm over his shoulder and staggers with him back to the cabin.

Once they’re both safely inside, Cas leads Dean to the love seat and puts two fingers to his forehead to instantly dry and warm him. Nothing happens. Frowning, he tries again. Still nothing. His powers have been hit or miss (mostly miss) since he regained his grace, but they’ve yet to fail him when Dean’s safety and well-being are concerned. He tries rubbing his hands together to warm them as if that might somehow help, but the end result is the same.

Dean’s teeth start to chatter as he looks hopefully up at Cas.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas crouches down to get Dean’s boots off. Bits of ice shake loose from his jeans as he maneuvers. “What happened?”

Dean’s shaking so much that he has to force the words out in short bursts. “Never made it…to the car…slipped...in a creek.”

Cas pushes away thoughts of Dean weighed down by layers and struggling to pull himself out of frigid, rushing water. “You need to get out of these wet clothes.” Now that Dean’s boots and soaked socks are off Cas can see how frighteningly pale Dean’s skin is. “I’m going to get you a blanket.”

The thin grey blanket in the bedroom closet is rough and musty but he snatches it up and hurries back only to find Dean still fully dressed. He looks up at Cas and holds his frozen, useless hands out apologetically.

“Can you stand?” Dean rocks forward but he can’t get to his feet. Cas lifts Dean’s arms so that he can wrap them around Cas’s neck, then helps him up. Dean shivers violently while Cas undoes his jeans and works them over his hips. Gratefully, he drops back onto the love seat. The jeans are heavy and stiff but Cas gets them all the way off and tucks the blanket around Dean’s lap. He pats Dean’s arms and chest. “Are you wet anywhere else?”

Dean’s shrug morphs into a shiver. “I can’t tell.” He starts to pull his knees up and lists over sideways.

“Let me check you and we’ll get you to the bed.” He hauls Dean back up again and turns him around, patting from his shoulders down. The hem of his outermost layer is damp and he strips that off before wrapping the blanket over his shoulders and guiding him to the bedroom. Dean’s walking a little more steadily now, but he’s hunched into himself and moving slowly. He crawls onto the bed and curls up on his side, still shivering. Cas takes the sheets from the closet and tucks those over him as well. He puts a pillow into a case and arranges it under Dean’s head. Dean’s eyes are squeezed shut but despite his best efforts, his teeth continue to chatter. With nothing else in the closet, Cas takes off his trench coat, shakes any drops of melted snow from it, and lays it over Dean.

Cas stands next to the bed and waits. He waits for Dean to crack some joke about Cas getting in his pants. Waits for some self-deprecating remark about his own clumsiness. Anything to show that he’s warming up and getting back to his usual sarcastic self. Instead all he gets is another vigorous round of shivering.

He perches lightly on the edge of the bed and Dean immediately, with his eyes still tightly closed, moves toward him. It’s all the confirmation he needs and Cas kicks off his own shoes then stretches out next to him. Dean, in his cocoon of covers, shifts closer and manages to open one miserable green eye. Cas rolls onto his side and lifts his arm in invitation and Dean is immediately there, tucked against him so closely that Cas has to bite back a yelp when the freezing tip of Dean’s nose presses into his collarbone. Through the layers, he rubs his hand up and down Dean’s back to warm him and Dean slowly starts to uncurl, even as he keeps his face buried against Cas’s chest. When Cas reaches to arrange the pile of covers more securely around Dean, Dean worms ever closer and Cas ends up pulling the blanket over both of them.

Cas hadn’t realized how chilly the room was until the warmer pocket of air under the blanket enveloped him. Without meaning to, he moves into it wrapping both arms around Dean. Dean sighs and eventually the shivering abates into shuddering which turns into the occasional tremble. Through it all, they lie together, pressed from chest to hip, their legs tangled. Dean’s hair tickles Cas’s nose and Cas turns his head until he’s essentially laying his cheek on the top of Dean’s head. Dean’s taller, but he fits nicely here, with his head in the crook of Cas’s neck.

Cas can tell from Dean’s breathing that he’s still awake, but now they’re both warm and muscles that were locked tight are relaxing into heavy limbs. Still, they don’t speak, both aware that a word from either of them will break the spell and leave the space between them filled with the cold cabin air. Cas is sure Dean will conveniently “forget” this entire thing but until that happens, Cas isn’t going to be the one to end this.

There are certain kinds of touches Dean allows, certain kinds that he finds acceptable between men. Shoulders are safe, a clap on the back or a tug on an arm. But more than once Cas has regained consciousness to find Dean’s hands on him, cradling his head or cupping his face with a touch so gentle even when his eyes were so desperate. Each time, Cas watched the desperation turn to relief, each time the two of them returned to casual touches, each time the words remained unsaid.

Dean tries to hide it but Cas can see how touch-starved he is, how he lets the rare moments of contact linger. There have been more lately. Evenings on the couch with Dean leaning in close as they watch movies, legs and shoulders brushing. Dean will always deny himself, Cas knows. It’s as much a part of him as keeping Sam safe. Cas would give him anything he wanted, comfort of every kind, but what’s the point in offering if Dean won’t allow himself to accept it?

He tightens his hold on Dean and is rewarded by Dean burrowing in. He absorbs it all: the feel of Dean against him, the warmth of his breath, the beat of his heart, even the mingled scent of dust and sweat as the storm continues to rage outside. There’s nothing to do but wait it out, Cas thinks, as his eyes droop closed.

Dean wakes to pitch black. He’s woken in many a motel room needing a moment to get his bearings but there was always something there to ground him: the wheezy hum of a heater, the cold cast of fluorescent light from the sign outside, the ever-present whoosh of highway traffic. It’s so dark here, wherever he is, that he almost can’t tell if his eyes are open or shut. Despite not knowing the how or the why of it, he wakes knowing right away that he’s safe. Cas is with him. Cas is _holding_ him. He listens for what’s woken him, but there’s nothing. Nothing but darkness and a silence so loud that it dominates his attention. No howling wind, no scouring snow. The storm has stopped.

He’d been heading back to the car, he remembers. To get flashlights and other supplies. The wind had been howling, the snow blinding, and his progress was slow. He’d gotten off track trying to find his way back up to the road and he turned in slow circles trying to get a glimpse of the cabin to re-orient himself. With little to go on, he knew he had to keep heading uphill so that’s what he did and when he finally caught sight of the narrow driveway that led up the embankment, he hurried toward it. He didn’t realize that a creek ran alongside it until it was too late and the snow gave way under his feet. He scrambled as he lost his balance but by the time he landed, he was knee deep in cold water. The water soaked into his boots and his water-logged jeans clung to his skin. It took him three tries to pull himself out, slipping back and splashing into the water with each failed attempt. If he’d been able to keep moving after he dragged himself free of the water he might’ve been ok, but with no gloves or hat and only his regular Winchester layers, he’d laid on the bank in the snow gasping for breath. As the adrenaline wore off, the cold took hold of him, numbing his feet and turning his hands useless. With the wind erasing his footprints, he hadn’t even been able to retrace his steps and he’d staggered off in the wrong direction. He’d made his way back toward the cabin but it wasn’t until he saw Cas standing out front that his last reserve of strength had given way to relief and apparently he’d collapsed there. 

Cas saved him. Even though he was injured himself, he'd somehow gotten Dean back into the cabin. If it weren’t for Dean fucking up, they wouldn’t even have been out in this storm and yet there was Cas saving his sorry ass yet again.

Even though he’s toasty warm now, a chill runs through him. One of these days Cas will realize he isn’t worth it. He’ll grow tired of giving so much and getting so little in return. That’s when Cas will up and go and no amount of prayer will bring him back.

That realization leaves him slumping and starting to pull away but Cas mumbles _don’t_ and tightens his grip. Dean stays, trying to relax again. Sometime in the night he went from huddled against Cas to hugging him and Dean’s palm is against Cas’s upper back, his fingertips lightly touching bare skin just above the collar of his shirt.

These hours are more than he’s ever been given, more than Dean’s ever let himself have. While he knows it can’t last, he has every intention of savoring it while he can, but the warmth and the dark drag him back under into sleep.

The next time Cas wakes he’s alone in the bed.

From the sound of it Dean is in the kitchen, and Cas finds him there fully dressed and stirring hot water into mugs. The sun is shining brightly and there’s a steady staccato beat dripping from the trees and the roof. Cas isn’t ready for Dean’s opportunistic amnesia so he bypasses the kitchen and stands at the front window. He pushes the heavy brown curtain further to the side to check the conditions. A few drifts remain against tree trunks and there are clumps of snow to be found in the shadiest areas but otherwise everything has melted. The roar of a motorcycle echoes from the road; they should have no trouble flagging someone down to call for a tow truck.

Cas is still standing there when Dean begins to talk. “I walked up to the road and was able to get a signal. Figured I’d give the car another try before I called and sure enough she started up with no problem. So we can head out as soon as you’re ready.”

“All right.” It’s not like he expected anything different, but there’s still a pang at the immediate return to business as usual. If he knows Dean, it’ll be straight back to the bunker where Dean will find plenty of excuses to stay in his room and avoid everyone.

“I checked in with Sam. He and Eileen are near North Platte and he asked if we wanted to meet them for lunch. It’ll add some time to our drive but I said ok.” He walks out of the kitchen with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in each hand. “Unless you were wanting to get right back.”

Dean holds out one mug, head ducked a little like he’s not sure if Cas will accept it. In the complicated language of Dean Winchester, this is both an acknowledgement and an offering and Cas stares for a long moment, taking him in. Dean looks up at him through his lashes and Cas makes his decision.

“I’ve never been to North Platte.” Cas reaches for the mug and their fingers lace for a moment before Dean lets go.

Dean smiles. “That changes today.”

He moves to stand next to Cas and they sip the cocoa, shoulders brushing, as the sun glints off puddles in the yard.


	5. Chapter 5

“Patty melt,” Dean says confidently.

Cas frowns and continues to study the menu.

“I’m telling you, man. Patty melts are severely underrated. They’re like the love child of a burger and a reuben.”

Cas flips the laminated page to look at more options while the waitress stands and chews her gum, pad and pencil in hand.

“It doesn’t have to have swiss cheese. You can sub it out for cheddar.”

Sam and Eileen, who are sharing the other half of the booth (and who ordered promptly and individually) watch the negotiation in silence.

Cas sets down the menu. “That sounds good.”

Smiling triumphantly, Dean turns to the waitress. “Two patty melts. One with cheddar. Fries with both.” She makes a few marks on the pad. “Oh and two coffees.” He looks to Cas who nods in confirmation.

“So, freak snowstorm?” Sam says again once the waitress leaves.

Dean leans his forearms on the table. “Damnedest thing.”

“And you don’t think that’s worth investigating?”

“Look, Sam, global warming doesn’t mean the temperature just goes up.”

“I know that,” Sam huffily tosses his hair back and Eileen smiles a little at it. “But it does sound suspicious. I mean, it had you guys trapped there overnight.”

Dean shifts a little in his seat. Not quite a squirm, but it’s enough for Sam to note. “Nothing bad happened because of it.”

“Act—“ Cas begins and Dean nudges his knee under the table. He maybe didn’t mention the weird fact that Cas had been completely mojo-blocked because that would’ve involved explaining about falling in the creek which might have blazed a trail right to the…aftermath of that. Cas takes the hint and says nothing more.

“I mean, it didn’t keep us from getting to a case or anything. I couldn’t even find mention of it in the news.” He shrugs and this time he doesn’t look to his left for Cas to corroborate. “And Baby was fine, so that’s all that really matters.”

They fall silent when the waitress comes back with a tray and unloads water and coffee.

“True,” Sam admits, not-so-casually resting his arm along the top of the booth.

“How was your….thing?” Dean doesn’t even try to hide his smirk as he slides Cas’s mug to him.

“Turned out to be a ghoul,” Eileen says. “Sam kept it distracted long enough for me to kill it.” She smiles at Sam who turns full dimples on her.

“You two make a hell of team,” Dean says as he counts out three creamers and two sugar packets and sets them in front of Cas.

They chat easily after that until the food arrives. Eileen is a few bites into her chicken sandwich when she nudges Sam’s knee and he turns to her. Waiting until Cas and Dean are talking to each other, she signs, _How long have they been together?_

Sam looks across the table, but he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He shakes his head at her before mouthing, _They’re not_.

She raises her eyebrows and keeps her signs close to her body: _the menu, the coffee?_ She glances back over then raises her eyebrows at Sam and tips her head in their direction. Sam watches Cas lift the top piece of bread from Dean’s patty melt to add the pickles he’s taken off his own.

Sam takes a deep, cleansing breath and then shrugs helplessly at Eileen.

When lunch is over, Dean hustles Cas through saying their goodbyes to Eileen so that she and Sam can have a few moments alone before everyone gets back on the road. The drive back is quiet but comfortable and Dean knows last night is on both of their minds. He’s been doing his best to act casual, but even the smallest touch seems to be imbued with an extra spark. Where he used to be content with those, suddenly brushing against Cas’s shoulder is a poor substitute for actually being in his arms. It’s not just limited to touching, either. Watching Cas swallow his coffee filled him with thoughts of how it felt to bury his face against his neck. And while he’ll never admit it, Dean may have trailed off in the middle of a sentence when Cas licked ketchup from his fingers.

Dean wavers between relief that Cas didn’t act weird this morning and frustration that they are right back where they always seem to be: in each other’s orbit, but forever slowly circling.He glances over at Cas in the passenger seat, catching his eye and giving him a dumb smile. Cas smiles back and Dean thinks maybe last night was the push he needed. Maybe Dean could just go for it.He’s spent a considerable amount oftime and emotional energy imagining scenario after scenario where he finally mans up and makes the next move and none of them had a lead up like last night’s. They were literally lying wrapped up together all night long. Would it have been that difficult to kiss him? It’s time. It’s long past time, to be honest.

A mile later he isn’t as sure. So much has happened in so short a time and Cas is in such a confused place right now.He’s an angel in some ways but still human in others. Dean saw first-hand how rattled he got during his molt, irritable and overly sensitive. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to make such a big decision when things are so unsettled. Anyhow, maybe Dean is reading the whole situation wrong. What else was Cas supposed to do when Dean was half-frozen? Leave him there on the bed and hope for the best?There’s nothing special about Dean; it was merely what Cas had to do. Cas doesn’t get personal boundaries, he never has. Body heat equals warmth. It’s a simple enough equation. Factual, really. No place for emotions.

Besides, things are good now. Cas has stayed put for weeks on end and Dean knows how lucky he is to have a stretch of time like that. Of course, it might be due to the fact that his weakened powers won’t let him zap away, but Dean likes to think he’s been happy recuperating at the bunker. Or maybe it’s more accurate to call it being stuck…

God, Dean’s been stupid. His best friend went through a traumatic experience. He’s suffered losses that Dean can’t begin to understand. Dean’s been trying to make up for damaged wings with buttered popcorn and shitty movies.

Back at the bunker, Dean refuses Cas’s offer of help, telling him to rest his leg. By the time Dean has the car unloaded and everything in the trunk has been double-checked, Cas is already in his room. Dean stands for a moment in the hall outside Cas’s door, but he can’t think of a good enough reason to knock. He turns and opens his own door. Everything is just as he left it.

“Today’s the day!” Charlie practically chirps.

“Why do I tell you people anything?” At Charlie’s raised eyebrow, Dean’s glare softens into a self-conscious smile.

“It’s beyond time, brother,” Benny chimes in from the back room.

“Seriously,” Kevin says, tying on his apron. “You’ve been talking about this for way too long.”

Dean pulls a rack of mugs out of the dishwasher and begins to stack them in reach of the big espresso maker. The morning crew works together like a well-oiled—or more accurately, a well-caffeinated—machine. Charlie and Dean craft the drinks while Kevin takes orders and rings up the customers. Benny keeps a steady stream of top notch pastries coming hot from the oven. The coffee shop hasn’t been open long but they’ve built up a base of loyal customers who don’t seem to mind waiting in line when things get busy.

Charlie and Dean could churn drinks out faster, one pulling espresso shots while the other foams milk, but they prefer to make the drinks one at a time, putting names to faces as they get to know their customers. The coffee shop is small and homey, a perfect fit for the mainly residential area it serves and they try to be community partners. They donate coffee to be sold at little league games, keep a fresh bowl of water and a jar of Benny’s peanut butter dog treats out front, and currently have art from the nearby elementary school’s fourth grade class displayed on the walls.

Because of the way they’ve reached out, their regulars are pretty regular. It also means that new faces are quickly noticed.

A new face turned up a few months ago but it only took Dean one look to know why this stranger was in their quiet neighborhood. Dressed in cargo pants and a navy blue T-shirt with Lawrence Fire in white letters across the back he was clearly a new hire at the fire station. 

Charlie had chatted with him first (Charlie chatted with _everyone_ first) and by the guy’s third visit, she was able to introduce him to Dean. “Dean, this is Castiel. He just finished up his training and got hired on at Station 212. Medium latte, extra shot, extra hot.”

Dean had smiled a hello while ignoring the lilt in Charlie’s voice as she gave the final instruction for the man’s drink. “Liking the neighborhood?” he asked as he waited for the milk to heat to 180 degrees.

“What I’ve seen of it so far, yes.” Ok, it’s not like Dean hadn’t already noticed the sharp lines of his jaw or the snug fit of his T-shirt, but that voice wasn’t helping matters. It was rough and deep like those were the first words he’s said to anyone since he got out of bed five minutes ago and, come to think of it, that would explain the hair.

Dean realized he’d been staring at Castiel when his gaze drifted from his hair to his eyes and he nearly scalded himself at the surprisingly intense blue. “Almost done here,” he reassured Castiel as he poured the milk, too flustered to attempt any foam art. He snapped on a lid and held it out. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at Dean who started to panic wondering if he had foam on his face. As he was contemplating the best way to subtly check, Castiel finally said, “I had a pumpkin muffin, too.”

“Oh! Sorry!” Dean turned to the bakery case to select a muffin. He folded over the top of the small white paper bag and presented it to him.

Castiel smiled at him. “Thank you,”

“You too,” Dean said, which yeah. Real smooth.

Charlie, expertly pulling shots of espresso turned to him with an innocent look. “Did I forget to mention the muffin?”

Dean rolled his eyes at her, but through the front window he watched Castiel walk up the block toward the fire station.

Sure enough, Cas joined the ranks of regulars, coming in for his latte and pumpkin muffin. His schedule was a little erratic but Dean learned that if Cas was working, there was a forty-five minute window of when he’d appear. Early arrival meant he’d find a place to sit and leisurely eat but if it was closer to the start of his shift, he’d take his things to go. Along with his bag and lidded cup, he’d take with him Dean’s opportunity to find an excuse to chat. Dean had become an expert at wiping already-clean tables or sweeping the floor even when they’d only been open for a half hour. Cas always smiled at him and sometimes they would talk about whatever book he was reading. Cas read everything it seemed, regardless of genre, and Dean would catch him with a historical biography one day and science fiction the next. An easy camaraderie grew between them and while it sucked that the high point of his day often came before the sun was even high in the sky, Dean found himself smiling each morning before he was even out of bed.

Despite his best efforts at being casual, it appeared the morning crew saw right through him. Charlie beamed at him proudly after every interaction he had with Cas and even Kevin would hiss Dean’s name if his back was turned when Cas entered the coffee shop. Benny mostly kept his mouth shut but Dean knew he was on his side.A few weeks ago, when February became March, Benny went over the new seasonal menu items with them: lemon poppyseed scones, blondies, and cornbread blueberry muffins.

“Nope,” Dean said and they all stopped to look at him. “I just mean, we have some customers who count on certain things being here. And…getting rid of them seems like a…disservice which could,” his voice rose here as he warmed to his argument, “impact customer loyalty.”

Kevin stared at him, confused, Charlie bit her lip and found something interesting to stare at on the ceiling, and Benny simply nodded and scratched something out on his tablet.

All of which has brought them to this day: the day in which, after numerous pep talks from Charlie, he is going to ask Cas out. Seeing as they’ve been discussing an upcoming movie, it should be no big deal for Dean to toss out the idea that they go see it together. It’s the perfect scenario, practically foolproof. Casual. Straightforward. Easy.

Even with Charlie’s multiple reassurances that Cas is into him (including the time Kevin literally smacked his own head down on the counter next to the register when Dean was particularly needy about it), Dean can’t let go of that flicker of doubt. Cas is too smart for him, too good, plus he might not even be into guys that way. Dean makes frou frou coffee drinks for a living while Cas literally runs into burning buildings to save people. (Ok, so it’s a quiet neighborhood and the most exciting call they’ve had recently was a bat that got into Ms. Harvelle’s house. In telling the story, Cas solemnly swears that the crew got off the truck wielding badminton rackets.) The point is he totally _would_ do something brave and heroic given the chance.

With the mugs safely unloaded, Dean pours fresh beans into the hopper of the espresso maker while Kevin fills the carafes with milk and cream. Charlie takes down the rest of the chairs and they all take one last look around before unlocking the door to start the day.

“What if he comes late today?” Dean worries once they’ve got the first small rush of customers served. Dean may have laid awake last night picturing himself calling awkwardly after Cas’s retreating figure, his words left hanging in the air for everyone to cringe at.

Charlie puts a calming hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take over so you can talk to him. We’ve been through this.”

Dean nods and checks his watch again.

He’s fitting the lid on an Americano when the bell above the door sounds. His heart skips a beat as it has each time the bell rang during the past five minutes, ever since the ‘Cas window’ began. “Hope you both get more sleep tonight,” he says sympathetically to Jess, whose baby is colicky. She takes the cup with a tired smile, pushing the stroller with the other hand. When he checks the door, Cas is there already looking at Dean and smiling.

Dean nods his head in greeting and hurries to fill his next order, hoping the steam of the frother will account for his pink cheeks. He keeps stealing glances at him as he gets in the end of the small line. Dean chews his lip a little and he reaches for a bag even before Kevin announces “Medium latte extra shot extra hot and a pumpkin muffin to go.” The muffin packaged, Dean gets ready to make the espresso.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas looks relaxed and his hair is curling damply under his ears. 

“Morning, Cas.” Ok, _now_. Just ask him. Use the words you spent way too long practicing. _Hey, you free to see that movie Friday night?_ The single question is racing through his mind as he dumps in the extra shot. It’s there as Cas asks him how his morning is going and as they chat about the upcoming rain. It’s still there as he pours in the milk and spoons foam on top and puts on the lid. Swallowing hard, Dean looks Cas in the eye and holds out the drink. Now. _Now_.

Cas reaches for the cup and there’s a moment when Dean forgets to let go of it.

“Stay out of trouble,” Dean says and _jesus christ where did that come from. How is he literally getting worse at this?_

“Have a good day,” Cas says and then he’s out the door.

When Charlie is done with her next customer, she turns and puts a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. “ _Tomorrow_ is the day.”

Dean can only nod.

But the next day the morning window of time for Cas to appear comes and goes without any sign of him. It’s not completely unexpected due to his schedule, but it takes some of the wind out of Dean’s sails. He spends the entire morning second-guessing their every interaction and his entire plan. They get along great the way things are now. Why would he risk making it awkward? For all he knows, Cas doesn’t even like guys. It doesn’t take long for Dean’s mind to go from _Cas won’t want to go out with me_ all the way to _Cas will put in for a transfer to get away from the creepy stalker barista_.

A little before lunch time the bell rings and his eyes automatically go to the door. There’s Cas, dressed for once in regular clothes: jeans and a T-shirt and a zip up hoodie. Dean is so surprised to see him there that he gives the mocha an extra dose of chocolate syrup. He’s so surprised to see him that he pays no mind to a second man following him in. It isn’t until he sees them talking at the register that he realizes they’re together. The second man is shorter than Cas with shaggy, sandy hair and an easy smile.He and Cas seem perfectly comfortable together, and Cas tips his head down to listen closely when the man leans in to speak. Cas has yet to look at Dean or greet him but that hasn’t stopped Dean from glancing over at them every chance he gets. He hands over the mocha and when he checks them out again, the other man is looking right at him and smirking.

Charlie is looking between them with concern as Kevin calls out their orders. Dean starts to set up for the espresso when he realizes no latte has been ordered. There’s hot tea and a lemon poppyseed scone and a drink that’s going to end up being more syrup and whipped cream than anything else.

“I’ve got this one.” Charlie mutters to him. She’s pumping caramel into a cup like she’s doing CPR. “You get Cas’s.”

Muscle memory has Dean reaching for the pumpkin muffins before he corrects himself and takes out the nicest looking scone and puts it on a plate. Of course they’re eating here. Of course they are. He opens the canister for the appropriate tea bag and adds the hot water. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before he turns around again.

“Hello, Dean.” Dean searches his face, but Cas looks like he does every other time: his focus is entirely on Dean and his eyes are warm and friendly.

“Hi, Cas.” Dean stops himself from saying _missed you this morning_. “Switching it up today?”

Cas squints a little. “Limiting the caffeine seemed like a good plan.”

Before Dean can answer, the other man puts a claiming hand on Cas’s shoulder while checking for Dean’s reaction. Dean works on a tight smile. “Take your time, Cassie. I’ll grab us a table.”

Cas opens his mouth to say something, but Kevin is calling out another order.

Despite telling himself he won’t, Dean watches them as he continues to work. What he really wants to do is escape through the back door and stand outside for a few minutes to regroup, but the lunch crowd is filing in and it seems there will never be a chance for him to step away. When he finally gets the go ahead to relinquish his spot behind the counter, it’s because a child at the table next to Cas has knocked his entire cup of hot chocolate onto the floor. The broken pieces of the mug are adrift in a large, sticky, and potentially hazardous puddle on the floor. As there’s a line backing up at the register and Charlie has a pair of paninis in the press, it falls upon Dean to grab the mop and bucket and tend to it.

After the spill, the frazzled mom immediately took her child and left so Dean starts by bending down to pick up the largest pieces of porcelain. He distinctly hears someone say _helluva view_ before Cas hisses “Gabriel”. Dean mops the spill as quickly as he can and he’s turning to push the mop back to the kitchen when Cas steps in to block his path.

“Dean,” Cas begins, and his face is a little flushed.

Dean grips the mop a little more tightly. Can’t they just finish their drinks and leave? “It’s fine,” he says just to get this over with.

“I’d like you to meet my brother Gabriel.”

Gabriel is on his feet now too and he shakes Dean's hand enthusiastically. “Been hearing a lot about you, buddy. Made Castiel bring me here to check you out in person.” He gives Dean an exaggerated wink.

Dean’s brain is still a half-step behind. “Your brother?”

“Yes, he’s visiting from out of town.” Cas looks genuinely distressed.

“Cas,” Dean begins, wanting to put him at ease. But then the rest clicks into place and he raises an eyebrow at him. “Have you been talking about me?”

“I—“ He can’t even look Dean in the eye.

Dean asks him out. Cas gives him his favorite smile (the one with the nose scrunch and gums) and says yes.

They meet for dinner before the movie and Dean is distracted from the minute Cas arrives in tight fitting jeans and a deep blue button down shirt that’s just begging to be compared to his eyes. Dean starts to think Cas isn’t playing fair, but then he remembers his own deliberate choice to wear a clingy, sea-green henley. He relaxes a little now that Cas has actually shown up. 

It’s easy at first. They’re shown to their seats, handed menus, and offered drinks. He feels strangely buoyed when Cas also orders a burger, like somehow Dean’s made the right choice, but then with the ordering done and the menus removed, there’s nothing else to distract their focus.

The restaurant is casual and a little noisy and Dean shouldn’t feel so nervous about sitting and talking but it’s so different having this open-ended time together. Dean’s used to a couple of minutes here or there, little drive-by conversations, where he’s always left longing for more. This is a whole different ballgame and he can’t escape behind the counter if the conversation suddenly runs dry. Speaking of dry, his mouth definitely is but apparently his palms are compensating for the lack of moisture there. 

A silence starts to stretch between them and Dean takes yet another sip of water while his brain scrambles for a topic to latch on to. Like an apparition, Charlie comes to him and he remembers her advice: _Ask questions_.

“So, how long have you been a firefighter?”

Ok, the one drawback to asking direct questions is that Cas leans forward and basically stares into Dean’s soul when he answers. It takes Dean an extra few seconds to process the actual words being spoken so he’s surprised to learn Cas only finished his academy training a year ago. Cas looks to be around Dean’s age, maybe even a little older, so that leaves some time unaccounted for.

“Did you have another career before you went to the academy?”

Cas tilts his head and straightens the silverware on the table in front of him. “I was all set to open up my own business as a wedding planner when I decided firefighting was what I really wanted to do.”

Dean considers this for a moment before nodding. “Both good choices.”

“What about you?” The way Cas looks at him has the background noise of the restaurant receding into a soft hum.

Dean hesitates. It’s not like he had dreams of being a barista. He’d always wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, but his own plans to go to college got put on the back burner when he needed to earn a paycheck to help keep his brother at Stanford. So he does what he always does when faced with this sort of question: he talks about Sam.

From there they talk about siblings and touch on the subject of parents (Cas doesn’t go into much detail but enough to give Dean the sense that they both have absentee dads) and then miraculously the food arrives and the conversation hasn’t flagged once in all that time.

The burgers are delicious: flavorful, loaded with toppings, and perfectly cooked.Cas seems to be enjoying his and Dean takes equal enjoyment in watching the way his tongue darts out to capture a bit of ketchup on his upper lip. His hands are mesmerizing too, and Dean finds himself staring at the way he selects a french fry so precisely with his long fingers. Everything Cas does seems deliberate and well thought out, and Dean feels sloppy and coarse across the table from him. He’s suddenly cognizant of his table manners (or lack thereof) and forces himself to eat slowly, taking small bites and chewing thoroughly.

For the most part, though, it goes smoothly and they sit and talk until they have to ask for the check so they won’t be late for the movie. There’s a weird moment when they both reach for the check but after some back and forth they decide Cas will pay for dinner and Dean will get the movie tickets.

Inside the theater, they have an intense discussion regarding the best place to sit. Dean is all about the center seats, but Cas strongly prefers the aisle.

“It’s a safety thing,” Cas explains and Dean can see that he’s scanning for the fire exits. Dean can’t top that, so they grab seats on the aisle and Dean tries not to get irritated when they have to stand up multiple times to let other people in and out of their row. It’s a little thing but it’s enough to get Dean’s brain spinning again and words like _incompatible_ start to come to the surface.

Once the lights go down and the crowd settles, Dean can’t figure out what to do with his limbs. Should he use the armrest between them? Let Cas have it? Can they share it? His legs are carefully in front of him, staying in the confines of his space. With his eyes on the screen he’s hyperaware of Cas beside him and he’s focusing so hard on sitting still to keep his cushy seat from rocking that he pays no attention to the previews.

Charlie swears to him that this is definitely a date. Only what if….it isn’t? Burgers, a movie. That could totally be a thing two friends do. He should’ve clarified. All they’ve done is talk and eat and sit side by side in a dark theater. There is a 100% chance that Dean is operating under false pretenses right now. Hell, the reason Cas wanted an aisle seat is probably so that he can make a quick escape if Dean tries to pull something.

Dean makes himself a little smaller in his seat.

Yet another preview begins and it’s one of those movies where you know exactly how it will end just from the trailer. Cas leans over to say something snarky about the tired plot device and he’s so close that Dean can feel his breath against his ear. Dean laughs his agreement and Cas smiles at him. When Cas sits back, he keeps his arm on the armrest, almost but not quite touching Dean’s.

Dean was always going to see this movie twice, he just figured the second time was going to be to pick up on the finer points he missed the first time through, not because he couldn’t concentrate thanks to six feet of hot firefighter sitting next to him. Dean doesn’t recall specifically moving but their shoulders are touching now and before long their knees have found each other, too. He’s not sure how it happens or who does it first, but one tiny shift has the backs of their hands brushing and now their fingers are laced together. His chest it tight with _this is happening_ and he wants to high five the entire theater in his excitement, but he settles for squeezing Cas’s hand a little. He smiles into the dark when Cas responds by pressing his leg against Dean’s.

By the time the movie ends, Dean’s lost complete track of the plot and he’s slowly being driven crazy by the way Cas runs his thumb back and forth over Dean’s. It’s nothing, a tiny movement encompassing maybe one inch of Dean’s skin, but it’s a spark between them that threatens to ignite. When the lights come back on, Dean starts to pull his hand away out of habit, but Cas is having none of that. He grips him tighter and tugs him to his feet.

“My place,” is all he says and Dean sucks in a deep breath before nodding.

Cas’s place is a small house, half of a duplex within walking distance of the movie theater. The first thing Dean notices when Cas unlocks the door is an abundance of overflowing bookshelves lining the walls. He doesn’t even have time to think how far out of his league Cas is before Cas is on him, taking his face in both hands and kissing him, his chapped lips surprisingly soft. The tension that’s been building up over the past couple of hours is threatening to burst out of Dean’s chest and he wraps his arms around Cas to bring their bodies flush. Cas deepens the kiss, thumbs on Dean’s cheekbones and the rest of his hands in his hair as he tries to steer them out of the entry way and into the living room. It’s an awkward dance as Dean tries to follow Cas’s lead. Their legs tangle together and Dean stumbles backward, but Cas is there to steady him and they pull apart, half-laughing, half-panting.

They’re barely out of the entry way but Cas’s mouth is wet and pink and Dean can’t drag his gaze away from it until Cas puts one hand gently on his cheek. “Is this ok?”

Dean answers by hooking his fingers in Cas’s belt loops and pulling him close again. He kisses a line from the underside of Cas’s jaw and down his neck. Cas tips his head back and Dean flicks his tongue over the thudding pulse point before sliding his mouth to the side to suck a mark at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Cas makes a soft humming sound at that and splays his hands against Dean’s lower back holding him steady so he can grind against Dean’s thigh.

“Yeah ok,” Dean breathes into Cas’s neck. “Couch.” He turns to walk to the couch and Cas plasters himself against his back, arms wrapped around his waist as he nibbles along the shell of Dean’s ear and runs his tongue down the sensitive skin behind it. When he catches Dean’s earlobe in his teeth, Dean comes to a halt, tipping his head back onto Cas’s shoulder. Somehow, with Cas propelling them both, they end up at the couch. Dean drops down onto it, looking up at Cas who is raking his eyes over him like he can’t decide where to start. Cas’s gaze is almost predatory in its intensity but instead of becoming self-conscious under it, Dean merely settles himself against the cushion and lets his legs fall open a little bit. In another moment he has a lap full of firefighter and they’re kissing again, hot and just this side of frantic. Cas is using both hands to shove up Dean’s henley while Dean tries valiantly to work open the buttons of Cas’s shirt, failing miserably when Cas grazes the pads of his fingers over Dean’s nipples.

They get stuck when Cas tries to get Dean’s shirt over his head while still kissing him, and Dean has to laugh against his mouth at their uncoordinated efforts. With Cas still wrapped around him, Dean manages to pull off his own shirt and fling it somewhere on the living room floor.

“I plan to keep practicing until we get this right.” Cas fixes him with a deadly serious look, one eyebrow raised as he finishes unbuttoning his shirt.

At that, Dean surges forward to drag his tongue along the hollow of Cas’s collarbone, both hands running up and down his sides. He kisses downward across the plane of his chest stopping to blow lightly on a hardening nipple before flicking his tongue against it. Cas pushes his hips forward and Dean shifts under him trying to get the friction he craves.

Cas plants both hands on Dean’s shoulders but Dean gets one more flick of his tongue in before he’s pressed back against the cushions. With laser-like focus, Cas works Dean’s fly and Dean can only watch, impressed as he handles the button and zipper adeptly. He reaches for Cas but Cas pushes his hands away and opens his own jeans to pull out his cock. One look at it and Dean gets impossibly, nearly painfully harder and hereaches for it. Cas, apparently, has other plans because he bats Dean’s hand aside and slides his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s underwear, watching Dean’s face as he teases over the wet head of his cock. Dean’s breath comes in gasps as his chest heaves. He’s locked into the blue of Cas’s eyes like it’s all that’s keeping him tethered to the earth. When Cas finally takes him in hand, he feels his toes start to curl and that’s when he realizes he’s still wearing his boots.

None of that matters when Cas leans in, finding his mouth again. Still straddling Dean’s lap, he doesn’t stroke them so much as line them up so they can rub against each other. Dean rocks up against him, deliciously slow at first, then with increasing speed. He feels the heat begin low in his belly and that’s when Cas pulls him forward. There’s a tangle of limbs as Cas manhandles Dean into place so that Cas is lying flat on his back on the couch with Dean on top of him. Now the angle is perfect and Dean ruts against him, faster and faster, frustration and pleasure building in equal amounts.

It builds and builds until Dean’s eyes fly open and he’s met with nothing but whiteness. His arms are wrapped around his pillow and he’s still thrusting mindlessly into his mattress.

“Fuck,” he whispers as reality careens back in and he rolls onto his back, still clutching the pillow. His pulse thuds in his ears and he works to slow his breathing. He squeezes his eyes closed again but whether it’s in dismay or an attempt to recapture the dream, he isn’t sure. He’s used to dreams evaporating soon after he wakes, drifting off into an inaccessible part of his brain with only the flimsiest of memories left behind, but this one replays in his head with vivid detail, leaving him with perfect recall of the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans, the plush fabric of the movie seat, and the feel of Cas’s mouth on his.

When he’s only partially successful at willing down his erection, he tosses back the covers and heads for the shower. With the water pounding on his shoulders and the stall filling with steam, he reaches between his legs to provide himself some much-needed relief. But, even with the dream as mental fodder, a couple of strokes is all it takes to realize the touch is all wrong. It’s not that he hasn’t gotten off to thoughts of Cas before. More times than he can count, Dean’s fantasized about his clever hands or his sinful mouth. But the dream felt so real that suddenly his own hand is a poor substitute. He sighs and cranks the water to the coldest setting. 

He’s smart enough to realize the dream encompassed all of his insecurities where Cas is concerned. It doesn’t exactly take Sigmund Freud to figure that out. How many ways can the universe remind him that Cas is way out of his league? In fact, he’s probably lucky he woke when he did. Part two of that dream was bound to have Cas in the hospital with burns and smoke inhalation after Dean managed to somehow set the coffee shop on fire.

By the time he’s dressed again, he’s mostly shaken off the dream. He's even able to smile a little at seeing Kevin and Charlie and Benny again even in such an unlikely setting. Sam is in the kitchen when he gets there and they exchange muttered good mornings until Dean has most of a cup of (inferior) coffee in him. He sips it wondering whether he’d actually know how to pull a shot of espresso now.

“Cas up yet?” That’s a completely benign question, right?

“Yeah.” Sam looks up from his phone. “He was kind of…rattled this morning. Ended up going out to get some food.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Rattled?”

“Yeah. I think he had a nightmare or something. Honestly, I didn’t know he still slept or dreamed for that matter.”

“What kind of nightmare?” Dean ventures, trying for casual.

“He didn’t go into detail. Just asked me some questions about what it means when you see dead people in your dreams.” Sam shrugs. “We talked a little bit about dreams as wish fulfillment.”

Dean nods even as he inhales a sip of coffee and has to cough his airway clear. 

They hear a door slam in a distant part of the bunker and Cas soon arrives in the kitchen holding a couple of grocery bags. Dean’s probably imagining things, but Cas seems to be avoiding looking at him.

Dean decides to push the issue and address him directly. “What’d ya get? I’m starving.”

Cas glances at him and then back at the bags. “I, uh, had a craving so I found a recipe and got the ingredients.” Dean watches him unload a bag of flour followed by can of pumpkin.

Sam looks it over and laughs lightly. “It’s May. Hardly pumpkin season.”

The sudden scrape of Dean’s chair catches them both by surprise. He mutters something about getting bacon and heads out the door.

He drives aimlessly, just letting the Impala’s engine open up on the nearest stretch of highway he can find. He tries to let the familiar act of driving soothe him, waiting for it to switch his brain to autopilot. But every time he feels himself wander toward that place of mindless action, he’s jolted back to alertness with another image from the dream. They flash in his mind as clear as any true memory. The first moment Cas walked into the coffeeshop, his broad shoulders framed in the doorway. The electric feel of brushing his fingertips when he handed him a cup. The hungry way he looked down at Dean splayed on the couch.

Dean cranks up the volume on the radio in another fruitless attempt to drown out his own thoughts. Yes, all right, it would be of considerable concern if they had the same dream. Djinn don’t work that way, though. It’s not how sirens work either. Anyhow, the wards at the bunker should be more than enough to keep them safe from anything that could. He’ll check the wards, he decides, nodding his head crisply, he’ll look for anything off or suspicious. Some of the older ones probably need a quick refreshing. It might take awhile but it gives him something purposeful to do. Something that isn’t casually asking Cas if he just so happened to also have a dream in which they got to third base.

He turns the Impala around and heads for home.


	6. Chapter 6

Under the guise of concentrating on the wards, Dean spends the next few days keeping to himself. When Cas offers to help, Dean sends him outside to check the eastern wall of the bunker. Cas ensures that all is properly in place there and doesn’t offer again. While Dean doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary, he notes a few areas that could be strengthened. Searching for supplies to make the improvements leads him to completely inventory their spell and hex bag ingredients, and before long he has a detailed list of items they need. This focus on productive work plus the lack of any additional weird dreams have him back to feeling like his old self which means he drinks a little more than usual and tries to keep his dealings with Cas to a bare minimum. The way his gut churns with cowardice is both familiar and not at all comforting.

The following morning he waits until he hears Cas in the shower and then knocks on Sam’s door with the list in hand. His bag is already packed and ready to go. “We’re low on all sorts of shit so I thought I’d make a supply run. Figured I’d get everything all at once so it’ll take me the better part of a week.”

“No fucking way,” Sam says, standing and crossing the room. He yanks Dean inside.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean pulls his arm free as Sam closes the door behind him.

“You are not sneaking out of here and leaving me to explain your absence.”

“I’m not _sneaking_ anywhere.” Dean crosses his arms in front of his chest. He’s totally sneaking out and he doesn’t appreciate his brother seeing through his carefully crafted cover.

“Damn right you aren’t.” Sam holds up the keys to the Impala.

“Real mature, Sammy.”

Sam jabs a finger at his chest. “Don’t talk to me about maturity, Dean. Not until you stop running away from your problems.”

“I wouldn’t have any problems if you would give me back my fucking keys.” Dean grabs for the keys but Sam’s holds his freakishly long arms up over his head and Dean refuses to climb onto the bed to reach them. They circle each other for a tense moment before Dean lunges at him. If the space between the door and the bed weren’t so small and his brother weren’t so large, Dean could totally take him. As it is, they fight, grunting and bouncing off various pieces of furniture. Sam’s desk chair topples to the ground with a crash and the door slams open. Cas stands there with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Sam lets Dean up from where he has him pinned but not without one last shove to his chest. He has a dangerous glint in his eye. “So, Cas, Dean has something to ask you.“

Dean aims a kick at his brother’s shin before sitting up. Dean knows his brother isn’t going to let him out of this one, so he asks the least incriminating question he can, mumbling like a petulant child. “Doyouwannagoonasupplyrun?”

Cas blinks at both of them and Dean is not staring at his bare chest. He’s not. “Do you want me to?”

Dean starts to shrug. “Whatev—” He stops when Sam pinches the back of his arm. Hard. He makes himself look at Cas’s face. “Yes.”

“I’ll get dressed then.” Cas leaves for his own room.

Dean gets to his feet, stopping to smack his brother on the back of his head.

Sam trips him as he walks toward the door. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Truth is, this trip can easily be done in less than the time he claimed (something Sam damn well knew) so he tells Cas he only needs a couple of days worth of things. Dean unpacks about half of his own duffle and they’re on the road within the hour, heading east across Kansas. The trip will take them straight across Missouri and into Illinois where they'll head north toward the shores of Lake Michigan and their ultimate destination: Chicago.

Had he gone on his own, Dean was going to drive to Chicago and then start figuring out details from there. Now, he puts Cas in charge of the list and Cas takes care of making phone calls to locate items and organizing their stops in the most efficient manner. They haven’t spoken much since the morning after the weird dream and this gives them a nice safe topic to start with. Dean’s beginning to realize how much he’s overreacted. Cas is just Cas. He’s easy to be with when Dean stops being ridiculous and lets himself enjoy his company. Despite everything, Cas seems happy to be with him, pleased to have been included, and Dean only feels a twinge of guilt at trying to leave him behind in the first place.

They stop for gas near Columbia, Missouri and get out to stretch their legs. It’s a good time to stock up on snacks so Dean figures he’ll grab beef jerky and a styrofoam cup of coffee for himself. He thinks Cas might like Chex Mix so he’ll pick up a bag of that too. Instead of following him into the store, though, Cas stares up the block. Dean follows his gaze to the unmistakable green and white sign of a Starbucks.

Cas’s brow is furrowed. “I thought I might like to try something there.”

Dean’s first instinct is to refuse. There’s still a lot of driving to do, that shit is crazy expensive, and truthfully the thought of Cas being in a coffee shop is completely weirding him out. It’s only the realization that Cas expresses so little interest in anything for himself that stops Dean from shooting down the entire idea. The least Dean can do for him is not be an asshole about this one thing. “Yeah, ok, fine but don’t get used to it.”

They pull into the Starbucks parking lot and get out. There’s no tinkle of bell when Dean pulls open the door and the layout is completely different from his dream, so he relaxes a little as they approach the counter. He starts to order a regular coffee then changes his mind at the last minute and makes it an Americano. When the barista, a young girl barely out of her teens who is a poster child for the word “perky” asks what size, he says sixteen ounces. He won’t give them the satisfaction of saying it. At least in his dream coffee shop they used small, medium and large. None of this tall and grande shit.

He gestures magnanimously to Cas. “And whatever he wants.”

Cas is squinting at the board above the counter, but Dean knows exactly what he’s going to say even before it rolls off his tongue like he’s ordered it countless times before. “Medium latte, extra shot, extra hot.”

The girls nods and writes on a cup with a Sharpie. “Anything to eat?”

Cas peers into the bakery case, but there are no pumpkin muffins. He looks like he’s about to ask and that’s more than Dean can take so he points at the breakfast sandwiches. “Two of those.”

Cas looks concerned at the total but Dean waves him off. “Special treat.” ( _His_ coffee shop was definitely more reasonably priced.)

Once everything is ready, they find a table. Cas takes a thoughtful sip of his latte while Dean unwraps his sandwich and pretends not to watch. When Cas sets down the cup without comment, Dean can’t resist asking him how it is.

“I…thought it would be different,” he says quietly.

Dean tries his Americano. It’s hot and strong and actually quite good. Then he remembers something. “You like your coffee sweet. A regular latte is made with milk but not sugar.” He gets to his feet. “Hang on.” He comes back with a couple of sugar packets and a wooden stir stick and gestures for Cas to take off the lid. He holds the packets at one end and gives them a quick shake before tearing them open and dumping the contents onto the foam. He gives it a thorough stir and pushes it back across the table. “Try it now.”

Tentatively, he drinks again and this time he smiles at Dean like he’s performed some sorcery. “It’s very good like that.”

Dean hides his own smile behind a bite of breakfast sandwich.

They eat and Cas reads the menu board over Dean’s shoulder and wants to know the difference between a latte and a cappuccino and a macchiato. Dean feels like if he just concentrated hard enough all of this information would come back to him and he’s half convinced he could walk behind the counter and whip up samples of each based solely on muscle memory, but just like any other dream, the specifics have finally faded. As he’s pulling out his phone to google the answers, he spies a stack of full color booklets that describe each drink. Cas pulls his chair around and together they pore over it, looking at the illustrated cross-sections of each one.

Cas is close enough that his hair brushes Dean’s cheek when he reaches across to flip back through the pages. He jabs his finger at the picture he’s been looking for. “I’m going to have this one next time.”

“Iced carmelized honey latte,” Dean reads. “Yeah, ok, you and the bees. But Cas, there’s something you need to know.”

Cas stares at him in anticipation of this new coffee custom Dean is surely going to explain.

“Coffee is supposed to be hot. That’s like rule number one of coffee.”

“I’ve seen iced coffee a lot of places,” Cas says. “People seem to like it.”

“Iced coffee is an abomination,” Dean insists.

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Why would I? Hot coffee has never let me down in all these years.”

Cas starts to drink from his cup, then stops and gives Dean a head tilt. “So you’re not looking to try anything new? Maybe you’d like both.”

Dean hides his flushed face by flipping through the pages some more.

“What about a mocha?” Cas asks. “That’s just coffee and chocolate and milk.”

Shaking his head, Dean dismisses the idea. “None of this frilly stuff with syrup and whipped cream. My dad had me drinking coffee when I was nine and he wouldn’t let me add milk, much less sugar,” he says proudly.

“Why not?”

“Because men take their coffee black.”

“Did you like it that way?”

Dean squirms a little under Cas’s scrutiny. He liked making his dad proud, but the coffee was terrible and he would’ve much rather had the chocolate milk that Sam got. He shrugs. “I got used it.”

“You were a child and you should have been able to get what you wanted,” Cas says with a hint of smite in his voice that makes something squeeze in Dean’s chest.

“A mocha,” Dean finally says, looking back at the booklet. “I would _maybe_ try a mocha just to see what all the friggin’ fuss is about.”

Cas beams at him. “Next time.”

Dean holds up a finger in warning. “There probably won’t be a next time, just so you know.”

“Of course not, Dean.” Cas’s voice is solemn but his eyes are still smiling. He finishes his latte and licks the last bit of foam from his lip with a swipe of his tongue. 

Their extended coffee break costs them some driving time, so they call it a night near Peoria where Dean pulls into a motel with a blinking vacancy sign. Since they left Starbucks, things have been easy and comfortable to the point that Dean can’t remember why he didn’t want Cas to come along in the first place. Unlike Sam, who complains about Dean’s music and bugs him for a turn driving, Cas seems content to be at Dean’s side. Also unlike Sam, Cas hasn’t heard all of his stories and he listens with a focused intensity that makes Dean feel like the most interesting person on the planet. It’s all going so well that Dean whistles while he waits for the night clerk to come to the desk.

“One room, one night,” Dean tells him, drumming his fingers on the counter.

He taps on his computer. “How many guests?”

“Two.”

“All I have left are singles.”

Dean looks over his shoulder at the nearly empty parking lot. Cas is standing next to the Impala and he raises a hand in greeting. “Seriously? We’re practically the only ones here.”

“The water had to be shut off to one whole wing when a pipe burst. You want the room or not?”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay.”

Armed with a key, he heads back out to the car and they unload their bags from the trunk. He doesn’t mention the bed situation because maybe, just maybe, when he unlocks the room a second bed will magically appear.

It doesn’t.

Cas takes in the room without comment, simply putting his bag down on the desk to pull things out, and asking Dean if he wants the bathroom first.

Dean hurries to change into pajama pants while Cas is in the bathroom and stands clear when Cas comes out in only a T-shirt and boxers. He brushes his teeth with extra, time-consuming care all the while wondering why he bothered to change. He could’ve ducked out for a beer and come back later so they weren’t getting into bed together like an old married couple. Hopefully Cas has learned enough from Dean’s…what did he call them? _Many avoidance techniques_ to be fake-asleep with the light off before Dean comes back out.

Dean finishes brushing his teeth and sits on the edge of the tub. Ok, fine. He can do this. Why is he the one hiding in the bathroom and making this into a big deal when Cas is completely unconcerned? Which, come to think of it, is kind of the issue. If Cas acted surprised or perturbed, Dean would at least have a clue as to how he felt. But these things aren’t awkward for him the way they are for Dean. Letting Dean touch his wings, holding him all night in the cabin…these were merely problems that Cas took it upon himself to solve. Nothing more. Dean could save himself a lot of stress by not reading so much into them. Sighing, he flushes and slowly washes his hands like he’s getting ready to perform surgery.

With a deep breath, he opens the the bathroom door. Cas looks over at him from where he’s sitting up in bed, reading.

 _Last time I buy you a latte_ , Dean thinks.

Dean gets into his side of the bed and arranges the covers around him. _Just say good night, turn away from Cas, and be done with all this_ his brain assures him. “Least I’m wearing pants this time,” his mouth says.

Cas sets down his book and stares at Dean with one eyebrow raised. There’s something in that look that has Dean considering pulling them off without even being asked.

“Night,” he mumbles, and turns away from Cas. How difficult would it be to smother himself to death with a pillow?

He tries to relax but even though there is a respectable distance between them he’s so conscious of Cas _right there_. Even with his eyes closed, he feels the warmth of his nearness, hears the soft sound of each breath, the turn of every page.

It’s not like they haven’t shared a bed before, but that’s most of the problem. He remembers all too clearly having Cas wrapped around him, keeping him warm. On the few occasions before that when he’d woken up with someone beside him, his first instinct had been to plan a hasty exit. With Cas, he’d hoped the sun would never come up. Cas is it for him, he knows that, but Dean has a long history of getting the people he loves hurt, and that’s a risk he’s not willing to take.

When Cas finally turns off the light, reaching over and shifting the mattress as he does so, Dean is relieved by the shroud of darkness. Dean thinks Cas has settled on his back, the way he likes to sleep, but maybe he’s turned away from Dean as well. It shouldn’t matter, and Dean should just focus on going to sleep, but he’s suddenly struck with the need to know. Slowly he rolls onto his back, trying to make the move seem casual and perhaps sleep-induced but he’s misjudged their positions. When he moves, the back of his hand brushes Cas’s hip and Dean jerks his arm back onto his own side of the bed like he’s been shocked.

With that, Cas turns away from him.

Now Dean lies on his back with his hands clenched into fists, looking at the curve of Cas’s back. The harsh illumination from a light in the parking lot comes in through a crack of the drawn curtains and the glow is as familiar as the aching loneliness in his chest. He’s not helpless, he knows that. It’s in his power to make a move, to reach a hand to Cas’s shoulder. It would only be a matter of inches but his brain sees it as a chasm he can never, ever cross. Too much is at stake. Too much could go wrong. Better to keep whatever it is they have intact than to risk losing Cas for good.

He angles his head just enough to be able to breathe in the scent of Cas’s hair while he waits in vain for sleep to claim him.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel sits in the darkened club, nursing his club soda with lime. Next to him, Balthazar drains his latest Manhattan, popping the cherry into his mouth before setting down the empty glass. They’ve been here for nearly two hours already, sitting and watching. With each successive cocktail Balthazar’s cheering has gotten more exuberant to the point that he actually stood and whistled loudly as the last dancer gathered up his discarded sailor costume.

There are a few minutes between dancers, enough time for the waitstaff to take additional drink orders while the emcee encourages patrons to sign up for lap dances or private meetings with dancers who’ve teased them throughout an entire stage set. No one so far has piqued Castiel’s interest which makes this interlude the perfect time to get up and make their exit. But when he turns to confer with Balthazar, he sees his friend already flagging down the waiter and gesturing to his glass. Castiel sighs and takes another sip of his own drink. He tells himself that ruling options out is a valid part of the process.

He turns his attention back to the stage when the music starts up.A man struts out confidently from behind the curtain, one thumb hooked in the belt loop of his leather chaps, the other hand tipping his hat to the crowd. From his dark brown Stetson to the shiny spurs on his boots he’s dressed in head-to-toe cowboy gear. Well, head-to-toe minus ass, Castiel discovers when he turns to greet both sides of the small stage.

While Castiel is still appreciating this welcome sight, the man swivels around again and this time Castiel focuses on his face. He’s quite good-looking, almost unexpectedly so, with fine bone structure and symmetrical features. Castiel spends a moment wondering how he ended up here before being distracted by the lasso the dancer unclips from his belt.

As he begins to twirl the rope, Castiel leans forward, arms resting on the table. Despite his copious alcohol intake, it doesn’t escape Balthazar’s notice. “Him?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, keeping his eyes on the dancer at all times.

Balthazar watches for a moment, then turns back to Castiel. “ _Him_ ,” he says again. It’s no longer a question but the emphasis conveys his disbelief. The man has full command of the crowd, swaggering across the stage and dropping the rope over the shoulders of delighted patrons who whoop and holler.

Balthazar can’t see it, but Castiel knows. He knows in his bones that while this man exudes bravado and a confidence that borders on arrogance, there is a need coiled beneath the surface. A need he probably never admits to himself. A need that Castiel was born to fill. It’s there in the flicker of boredom in his eyes and in the soft set of his plush lips. It’s a subtle, silent challenge he radiates, defiantly there as he waits for just the right person to recognize it and claim their prize. 

Before the set is finished, Castiel has called over the waiter and given him a handwritten note to deliver to the club manager. Not long after, Gabriel makes his way to their table and pulls out an empty chair.

“As you can imagine,” he says without even bothering to greet them first, “he is booked solid the rest of the night.”

Castiel nods. Of course he is. Despite only having laid eyes on the man for a handful of minutes, the thought of him spending time with other customers causes a twinge of jealousy to flare through him.

“I can offer you some time at the end of his shift, but it’s going to cost you double.”

Castiel nods again and reaches for his wallet but Gabriel holds up a hand to stop him.

“Cool your jets, Romeo. If Dean agrees to stay and meet you I’ll add it to your tab at the end of the night. But I’ll warn you, he usually books it out of here pretty quick.”

A hint of uncertainty moves through him but he pushes it away and finishes his club soda in one long drink. Dean will agree to meet him.

Balthazar, however, is not as confident. “You know the guy, Gabriel. You think Cassie here is barking up the wrong tree with this one?”

Gabriel shrugs. “If you’d asked me, I wouldn’t have put him forward as an option, but Cas has like, a weird radar for this so I wouldn’t bet against him.”

Two hours later the crowd has cleared out and Balthazar has been put in a cab. Castiel crosses back through the now-quiet club while one employee loads empty glasses into the dishwasher and another puts chairs up on tables to prepare for mopping. Gabriel ushers him into his office and they chat amiably until there’s a knock on the door. Gabriel gets to his feet immediately to let Dean in. He’s dressed in regular clothes now, old jeans and a band T-shirt with a flannel over it. He must’ve showered after his shift was through because his hair is damp.

Gabriel makes the introductions and Castiel is pleased at the firm handshake Dean offers. This close, Castiel can see the little details he couldn’t make out from his seat in the audience. Dean’s eyes, it turns out, are a striking green and his freshly-scrubbed face is dotted with freckles.

“Thirty minutes,” Gabriel informs them. “And this is my office, for God’s sake. Keep it PG.”

Dean’s eyes narrow a little at that and he looks to Gabriel for clarification but Castiel is quick to reassure him. “I only wish to speak with you.”

Gabriel claps Dean on the shoulder before he takes his leave. “Cas here is one of the good ones. Otherwise I never would have set this up.” He jabs a finger at Cas. “Thirty minutes,” he says again.

Castiel waits until the door closes completely. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Dean.”

Dean nods, but his eyes are wary. Castiel realizes that Dean has subtly positioned himself between Castiel and the door. He has no intention of hurting Dean but of course Dean has no way of knowing that yet. Whatever it was in his life that taught him to be so vigilant surely helped create the facade he presents to the world.

To put him at ease, Castiel creates some space between them by taking a few steps back. “I appreciate your staying late.”

It’s not much of a smile, but it’s there. “Well, Gabe told me it’d be overtime pay for a half hour of talking. I could hardly say no to that.”

“I’m hoping to present another offer you can’t refuse,” Castiel begins but he stops again when Dean snorts.

“Really? You’re going all Don Corleone on me?”

Castiel squints his confusion, then the reference comes to him and he laughs sheepishly. “Let me try that again.”

Dean looks like he’s relaxed the tiniest bit as he waits for Castiel to continue.

“I’m looking to form an…arrangement. A paid arrangement,” he hurries to add. Dean is staring at him attentively and Castiel finds himself distracted by the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He backtracks. “You are familiar with the practices of BDSM?”

Dean smirks. “I do happen to work at a strip club, so yeah, let’s go with ‘familiar’.” He crosses his arms over his chest gives Castiel a long, brazen look up and down. “You like my lasso work?”

“That rope was definitely on my mind,” Castiel concedes and he can see the moment the stage persona takes over again. Dean’s suddenly _smoldering_ and looking damned pleased with himself.

“Well believe me, I know how to use it. What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?”

“I’m looking for a paid submissive.” Castiel can almost hear the needle skip.

Although Castiel hasn’t moved from his perch on the edge of Gabriel’s desk, Dean takes a step back. “Sorry, man, but you’ve got the wrong guy.”

Castiel tilts his head as he regards him levelly, eyes cool. “I don’t think I do.”

“Look, I’m not one to kinkshame, I’m just saying you’re gonna need to keep looking.”

Undeterred, Castiel continues. “I’m only asking you to consider it. The pay is good and I have no doubt it would leave both of us more than satisfied.”

Dean turns toward the door and Castiel says his name firmly. As he expected, Dean stops.

Castiel crosses the office and waits for Dean to turn back to him. “It’s ok to want this.” They stare at each other for a long moment before Castiel retrieves a business card from his wallet. “Think about it. If you’d like to proceed, come see me tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

Dean lets out a long breath before before reaching out to take it. He tucks it safely into his back pocket and leaves without another word.

At precisely ten the next morning, Castiel’s doorbell rings. He knew Dean would show. He knew it. And yet he spent the last fifteen minutes sitting motionless at the kitchen table unable to shake the nagging fear that the hour might come and go without any sign of him. When he opens the front door, Dean is standing in the morning sun looking the tiniest bit sheepish, but he makes solid eye contact with Castiel. In this light, Castiel can see that the green of his eyes is flecked with gold.

“Please come in,” Castiel finally says when he realizes he’s been staring, and moves aside to let him pass. He gives an idle thought as to whether the neighbors on his quiet suburban street will give the muscle car parked in front of his house more than a cursory glance.

He shows Dean into the living room and they sit. Dean sits primly on the couch while Castiel takes the arm chair.Dean holds himself rigidly, like he’s waiting to be called on his bluff.

 _I wasn’t sure if you’d show_ Castiel wants to say, but he can sense that Dean needs him to be straightforward and in control. “I take it this means you are willing to discuss an arrangement,” he says instead.

Dean looks at his hands which are palm down on his thighs. “I’d like to hear what you have in mind.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean looks up. “This is an equal relationship. Your needs and wants are just as important as mine.” Dean’s expression says he doesn’t quite believe this. “If this is something you truly want to do, we’ll negotiate it so that it’s acceptable to both of us.”

Dean inhales slowly and Castiel can see him bracing himself. “I’ve never really done this officially,” he says, eyes downcast again. “There are parts of it I know I like, but…” he trails off, wincing ever so slightly.

Castiel wants to reach a hand across to rest comfortingly on Dean’s arm, but he stops himself. “This would be a partnership, something mutually beneficial. Being a submissive isn’t the same as merely enduring whatever someone else doles out.”

Twisting his fingers together, Dean nods.

“If you think you would like to move forward, we can negotiate the terms of our arrangement. We can do this one of two ways,” Castiel says as Dean meets his eyes. “I have a checklist we can use or we can do so conversationally if you’re more comfortable with that.”

Dean blinks his surprise. “A checklist? Seriously?”

Castiel stands and retrieves the papers from the kitchen table. He hands one along with a pen to Dean. “Impersonal perhaps, but effective. The form is fairly self-explanatory. You indicate your experience with each practice and rank your willingness from zero to five.”

Tapping the pen against his thigh, Dean reads through the paper. He glances over at Castiel who has begun to methodically work his way down the page. “Uh.”

“Yes?”

“I know this part is important but…” He gestures down at the lengthy form. “This is kind of a lot. Couldn’t we just agree on some basics and then go from there.”

Castiel sits back in his chair. “Of course. What sort of basics?”

“Um,” Dean puts his hand to the back of his neck and rubs nervously. “I don’t mind being tied up in any and all ways.” He looks sharply at Castiel. “Don’t fucking tickle me. And I’m cool with women’s underwear,” he finishes in a rush.

Castiel is supposed to say something here, he’s sure of it, but the image of Dean laid out helplessly before him bound in rope and wearing nothing but a pair of pink, silky panties floods his brain and shorts out his language center. “Ball gag?” is all he can manage.

Dean, fully aware of the effect he’s having, relaxes for the first time and his lips curve into a sly smile. “Oh yeah. I like coming with something in my mouth.”

In an instant, Castiel is out of his chair and standing over Dean, whose eyes widen in surprise. With two fingers he gently tips Dean’s chin up then drags his thumb along his lower lip. “That can be arranged.”

There’s a charged moment between them before Dean swallows.

Castiel drops his hand. “I apologize. I should not have touched you without permission.”

“Nah, man, it’s fine.” Castiel is pleased to see the flush creeping across Dean’s cheeks. “So…when do we start?”

Castiel picks up another set of papers and they discuss times and dates and payment. Before the contract is signed, Castiel says, “I propose a two-week trial period. After that either one of us can break the agreement.”

Dean looks over the paperwork one last time. “Sounds good to me.” He signs and hands the papers to Castiel who adds his own signature then places them in a neat stack. They stand and Castiel reaches out to cap the deal with a businesslike handshake. Dean bursts out laughing and Castiel looks at him with concern.

“Sorry,” Dean says with a grin. “Did I consent to handshakes?”

Castiel laughs too as he walks Dean to the front door. Standing on the porch Dean gestures around the quiet, treelined street. Each house is well-maintained and from the minivans and play structures, it’s clearly a family-friendly neighborhood. “This certainly isn’t the setting I expected for an arrangement like this,” Dean admits.

Castiel waves a hand in greeting to the dark haired woman getting out of her sensible small SUV across the street. “You never know what goes on behind closed doors.” He raises both eyebrows in a significant look. “That PTA mom could be writing porn while her kids are at school.”

Dean glances at her, looking scandalized for a moment. Then he shrugs. “I suppose so.” He starts down the front steps, stopping to smile back over his shoulder. “See you Thursday.”

“See you Thursday.” Castiel watches as he gets into his shiny black car and drives away.

By the time Thursday evening arrives, Castiel has decided on a scene and has the necessary props laid out. Actually, he’s decided on about a half dozen scenes and he’s painstakingly put away and then taken out new items each time. If it weren’t for the fact that Dean is due to arrive at any moment, he would probably gather everything up and start again.

It’s not that he doubts himself. He most certainly does not. It’s that the allure of this new sub is so overwhelming that he literally can’t decide how best to start. So many possibilities, so many ways to take Dean apart. A carousel of fantasies rotates in his head, each idea more delectable than the next. He takes one last look around and then goes downstairs to wait.

He doesn’t miss the roar of Dean’s car turning on to the street, nor does he miss the way Dean stays in the car until the precise moment Castiel has told him to arrive. Castiel smiles to himself when he hears the car door slam shut followed by the sound of Dean calmly walking up the front steps and across the porch. When Dean rings the bell, Castiel forces himself to count to ten slowly.

“Good evening,” Castiel says as he lets Dean into the house and closes the door behind him. Dean stands in the entryway looking a little unsure. “Is everything all right?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, then stops.

“Dean,” Castiel says, “We haven’t started yet. In fact, this is a good time to check in and make sure we’re both on the same page.” He gestures toward the living room and they both sit down.

“I brought a bag, like an overnight bag? But I didn’t know if I should bring it in or not so I left it in the car.”

“I will provide everything you need while you’re here. I should have clarified that.” Dean’s face is inscrutable so Castiel can’t tell if this is an acceptable response or not, but he stays silent. “Did you have any other questions?”

“Nope. I guess if I have more I’ll _submit_ them to you later.” He winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”

“Follow me.” Castiel leads him through the living room and then upstairs to the spare bedroom. The walls are painted taupe and the bedding is a crisp white with navy blue accents that match the floor to ceiling drapes over the windows. Everything about the space is muted and calming while being purposefully impersonal, like a comfortable but generic hotel room. He watches as Dean looks around and wonders if it has the desired soothing effect on him. Perhaps, though, the lack of anything out of the ordinary is making him curious. There are no cuffs hooked through the headboard or ropes coiled on the arm chair. No sex toys of any kind are visible, not even a bottle of lube on the bedside table. Dean’s gaze lingers on the closed closet door and he jumps a little when Castiel moves to the tall chest of drawers and begins to speak.

“When you arrive, if there is nothing you need to discuss, you will come directly upstairs and undress.” He indicates a square basket on the floor. “This is for your clothes and personal items.” Tapping the top drawer of the dresser he continues. “If there is something I want you to put on, it will be here. This is the only drawer you are to open. Do you understand?”

Dean nods.

“I prefer a verbal acknowledgement.”

“I understand.”

“If you will come over here, you’ll see the drawer is not empty.”

Dean moves to Castiel’s side, peering eagerly inside He’s not quite able to hide the quick intake of breath at seeing the contents.

“In general, it is your responsibility to undress. However, today I would like to do it myself.” And just like that he’s already breaking his own rules. He has a system for this, a routine. Steps to be followed that he adheres to with exacting precision. But something about Dean makes him want to rip up the playbook and go for broke. It frightens him a little, how willing he is to throw everything he’s built up to this moment out the window and start fresh.

But Dean doesn’t know any of this so he simply nods again, then quickly follows it with a verbal “Ok.”

“What is your color?”

“Green.” No hesitation.

“All right.” Castiel closes the drawer and turns to face Dean. “Sit on the chair please.”

Dean sits and Castiel crouches down to untie the laces of his boots. He removes each one and then pulls off his socks carefully to avoid any tickling.

Castiel stands and gestures for Dean to do the same. Castiel starts with the outermost layer, an unbuttoned plaid flannel. He slides both hands along Dean’s collarbones to slip the shirt off of his shoulders. Starting with the rolled-up right sleeve, he tugs on the fabric so that Dean can work first one and then the other arm free. Folding the flannel carefully, Cas carries it along with Dean’s shoes and socks to place them in the basket. Then he returns to where Dean waits in just a black T-shirt and jeans.

Dean is a stripper and getting undressed for Castiel may have been the only part of today that he felt confident about. When he realizes Dean is standing as still as he can, neither slouching nor preening under Castiel’s watch, Castiel almost feels bad for taking that opportunity away from him. Almost. But this is not about making Dean comfortable. It’s about leading him somewhere new and unfamiliar, guiding him on a journey he’s desperate to take. It’s about showing him he can give up control and, through the process, lose himself in all the right ways.

Castiel walks in a slow circle around Dean. The black T-shirt is just tight enough to hint at the muscles underneath, the swell of his pecs and the curve of his biceps. Castiel has done nothing more than skim his hands over Dean’s shoulders to remove his over-shirt but he can see that Dean’s nipples are already hard, poking at the fabric. He stands facing Dean, close enough to see the tiny freckles that disappear into his hairline. Close enough to feel the soft warmth of his breath. He reaches a hand between them and feels Dean shiver as he brushes lightly against Dean’s stomach to pull at the hem of his shirt. Taking a step back, he puts his hands on Dean’s waist, turning him around so that when he finally pulls the shirt up and off, he’s treated to the muscles of Dean’s bare shoulders rippling as he raises both arms overhead. The shirt comes off with a whisper of fabric and Cas folds it neatly before adding it to basket. Stepping behind him again, Cas slowly runs his hands from the crest of Dean’s shoulders down the planes of his back, tracing the dip of his lower back and ending at the waistband of his jeans. Dean’s skin is warm and surprisingly smooth and Castiel wants to trace each freckle with his tongue, but he files that away for another time.

He should be cooly undressing him, keeping things almost clinically detached as he always does at this stage in the game, but he feels Dean’s nearness somehow pulling him closer, his mere presence flooding his senses. Before he can second-guess himself, he rests his hands lightly on Dean’s hips before hooking his index fingers into his belt loops and pulling Dean back against him in one quick motion. Dean gasps as he stumbles backwards, braced almost immediately by the solidness of Castiel’s body. Castiel slips fingers along Dean’s waistband, gliding them forward until his arms are wrapping around him, leaning forward enough to rest his his chin on Dean’s shoulder if he wanted to. Instead he merely scrapes his teeth just below Dean’s ear while he unbuckles his belt.

He could pull the belt off slowly, sinuously, but he’s too intrigued by the unexpected softness of Dean’s stomach and he keeps his hands there for a moment before tucking them into the front pockets of his jeans and drawing Dean even closer against him. Dean starts to mold into him, letting his head fall back against Castiel’s shoulder, his hair tickling past Castiel’s cheek. Castiel kneads at Dean’s thighs, running his thumbs along the crease where his legs meet his groin. When his hand grazes Dean’s half-hard cock, he moves it away again even as Dean’s lips part with a tiny wet sound. Pulling his hands from Dean’s pockets, Castiel reaches for the button of his fly, then the zipper. The sound of it opening seems thunderous in the quiet room, punctuated only by their breathing. Castiel leans back a little, forcing Dean to regain his own balance while he eases the denim over the curve of his ass and pushes the jeans down past his hips to pool at his feet.

He moves to Dean’s side and guides a hand onto his shoulder so that Dean can steady himself enough to step out of his jeans. Cas scoops them up, folds them, and adds them to the growing pile.

Dean’s used to being undressed in front of an audience. Used to the hot spotlight glaring down on his exposed skin. But here, with only one pair of eyes on him, Castiel can see the way Dean struggles to keep from covering up. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, not looking at Castiel, and he chews his lip as he surreptitiously wipes his palms on his boxers.

Castiel wants to dive in. He wants to throw Dean down on the bed and have his way with him. It’s a constant, nagging burn just below the surface, an almost insatiable need that seems out of place considering how short a time he’s known Dean. His skin has been buzzing from the moment he brushed his thumb over Dean’s lip. Even that silly handshake, such a casual touch of their hands, sent a searing heat through Castiel. Despite how new this connection is, there’s an absolute certainty to it and he’s struck by a complete and convincing knowledge that he is exactly where he is meant to be doing precisely what he is meant to do.

Castiel takes a deep breath. It’s his job to be in control here. He needs Dean to trust their arrangement and by extension, him. He pushes down the prickling need and sits down calmly on the end of the bed. “Put them on,” he says, nodding toward the dresser.

Dean retrieves the panties from the drawer, a wisp of bright color in his fist. As Castiel watches, Dean hesitates trying to figure out where to position himself for the swap. Castiel waits patiently, giving him no direction, and finally Dean settles on giving Castiel a side view as he pulls off his boxers and steps almost daintily into the pink panties. Castiel catches a glimpse of his cock bobbing free but he stops himself from demanding Dean face him, working to gather the composure that has always served him so well. With the panties pulled up over his hips and the waistband laying smooth, Dean steps in front of Castiel to wait for his next instruction.

Castiel trails his eyes up from Dean’s bare feet, along the charming bow of his legs to the bubblegum-pink silky fabric straining over his crotch. Further up, he sees more pink, as a flush creeps from Dean’s chest to his neck. The flush notwithstanding, some of the self-consciousness seems to have dissipated and he’s standing with more assurance, his shoulders back and head held high. Maybe the panties feel enough like a prop that he can imagine himself back on stage, or maybe it’s the calm that comes with being given what he’s wanted. Either way, he’s a stunning sight to behold.

Castiel’s mind whirs with possibilities. He had a plan long before Dean stepped through the doorway this evening but suddenly he feels at a crossroads. He can have Dean in any way he pleases and the thought is overwhelming him nearly into paralysis. Dean tries to wait patiently but the pace of his breathing is elevated just enough for Castiel to know that Dean is struggling with his own anticipation. That knowledge is enough to elicit some praise.

“As much as I imagined you like this, it pales in comparison to the real thing.” Castiel reaches out and rests his hand along Dean’s hip, feeling both warm skin and cool satin. “You’re breathtaking.”

Dean dips his head in response, but he seems to know instinctively that isn’t the right reaction. He fights to look back at Castiel, head raising first then his eyes following and it’s that little bit of struggle that has Castiel’s heart skipping a beat. He stands then and traces a line with his fingers from Dean’s cheekbone, skimming his ear and ending with his hand tangled in Dean’s hair. Standing too close, he whispers in Dean’s ear, “So good.”

Dean gasps and whether it’s from the hot breath in his ear or the words of praise, Castiel doesn’t know but either way when he glances down at Dean’s crotch, there’s a fresh, dark patch of wetness.

Castiel’s cock stiffens in response and his brain is urging him forward. He wants to jerk himself off and come all over Dean’s face, he wants to see Dean on his knees, he wants to get on his knees himself. He’s lost again. He can’t decide. Maybe he doesn’t have to. “What do you want me to do?”

Dean’s eyes widen for a quick moment and then he looks wary. Like maybe this is a game Castiel likes to play. Ask the sub what it is they most want and then withhold it. Castiel reads this all in his expression and tightens the hand in his hair. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll know.”

He chews his lip, stalling his answer and Castiel uses his free hand to pinch Dean’s nipple. “I want you to…fuck me.” He can’t quite look Castiel in the eye as he says it, but he’s still holding his head high. (Although some of that might be the hand in his hair.)

All it takes is hearing Dean say it to convince Castiel that it’s the best choice, the only choice. With a course of action decided, Castiel relaxes. Dean will get what he wants, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have to work for it. Castiel trails his fingers lightly over Dean’s nipple, before pinching it again, harder this time. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”

He carefully notes the moan Dean suppresses at the rough touch. “Yes. Please.” He finally meets Castiel’s eyes. “I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

Castiel takes both hands off him in an instant and watches as Dean lets out a long breath. He turns his back to him and pulls open another drawer. He presses the bottle of lube into Dean’s hands. “Get yourself ready.”

Standing alone in the room, Dean’s fingers close around the bottle. He takes a few deep breaths trying to settle the heat that seems to burn under his skin but it doesn’t abate, not even in the slightest. It radiates out from his core, flushing his skin pink and he feels another wave of wetness between his legs. He paces the length of the small room, trying to focus his mind but the edges of his vision are going dark as all he can think about is his aching need.

When he finally remembers the bottle in his hand, he looks at it in disgust. Is this a joke to Castiel? _Get yourself ready._ Like he could be anything else. Like his body could stop responding even if he willed it to. He throws the lube across the room as hard as he can, the insult coursing through his blood along with the desire. Just as he intended, it hits the mirror above the dresser and shatters it.

It’s a reckless act, a potentially dangerous one, but it has the desired effect and he immediately hears footsteps on the stairs. As Castiel and his scent near, Dean breathes it in, every nerve taut in anticipation. When the door opens, Dean’s desire mixes with a flood of shame. Cas is impeccably dressed in his crisp white shirt and slacks, the only thing he can’t seem to subdue is his hair. Dean, however, is mostly naked, clad only in a flimsy bit of bright pink satin that dampens with his insatiable need. It should humiliate him, being put on display like this, but then he sees the hungry look in Cas’s eyes in sharp opposition to his careful and composed posture. Dean sees his nostrils flare as he breathes in the heady scent permeating the small room and all embarrassment evaporates.

Cas drags his eyes from Dean’s body long enough to take in the shattered mirror. He looks back at Dean with concern, quickly scanning for any injuries. “Dean, what happened? Are you hurt?”

Dean hurts, but not in the ways Cas means. He aches with need but from the way Cas keeps his distance, remaining safely in the doorway, he either can’t or won’t acknowledge it. And that’s the part that is slowly killing Dean. He’s put out every signal he knows how and still nothing more than the occasional lingering glance or too-long touch. Dean carries his own blame in this, he knows. But the difference in their positions, the imbalance of power, has always been too intimidating for him to overcome. Why would Castiel, so powerful, so infinite, choose someone as lowly and earthbound as Dean?

And yet. Here they are again, perched on the edge of the precipice for what feels like the millionth time. Dean feels another wave of wetness creeping from under the panties, slicking down onto his thighs now. His skin is fever-hot and the sweat at his hairline prickles as it too begins to drip. “I’m—“ is all he manages before his knees buckle.

Cas is across the room to catch him before he falls. This close, his scent is nearly unbearable and Dean can’t help but collapse against him, pressing his nose into his neck and breathing deeply as yet another surge of desire wracks through his body. He wonders if he could come from the satisfaction of the scent alone—that tantalizing mixture of ozone and petrichor and honey—but the roiling need deep inside him won’t be abated with anything less than all of Cas. The heat between them grows and even the feel of his fingers on Dean’s skin flares hot enough that Dean wouldn’t be surprised to find a handprint burned onto his shoulder.

“Please, Cas,” Dean begs. “Please, I need you. I need your knot.”

Cas’s grip on him tightens and he gasps at Dean’s words but Dean is well past the point of trying to push down his need. He’s exhausted from trying to hide it, from denying himself what he’s almost given up on after all these years. Cas nuzzles at him, pressing his nose into Dean’s hair, and their scents mix together into something dizzying and nearly terrifying in intensity.

“I’ve got you,” Cas promises, pulling Dean closer. Dean wants to cling to him, to fist both hands in his shirt and drag him in. He tips his head back and Cas ravages his mouth, tongue thrusting and exploring even as Dean feels his arousal pressing against his thigh. It’s passionate and good, but it’s not enough and Dean reluctantly breaks away from the kiss. The slick is gushing down his legs in waves and he turns in the circle of Cas’s arms to rub his ass against Cas, not caring that he is soaking both of them in the process.

Unable to resist another moment, Cas pushes him forward and Dean braces himself on the bed, desperate and nearly keening as Cas pulls the panties off at long last. The air on his exposed skin makes him shiver but Cas is there, pressing up against him as he slides inside. Dean drops onto his forearms, the better to push back against Cas’s every thrust. Cas has him by the hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises as he ruts into Dean’s clutching hole. Dean loses himself in the sensation of being so completely and thoroughly filled. His world narrows down to the the relentless pace and the knot just starting to form, catching on his rim with the promise of the satisfaction he craves. He swears he can feel the slick continue to pour out of him, cascading down his legs until he’s ankle deep in it, rising higher until it reaches his knees.

That’s when he loses his footing.

As Cas’s cock drives somehow further inside him, deeper than before, Dean starts to float. It’s not just his mind detaching from the here and now of the room; in fact the room itself is gone, replaced by open, dark water. He’s completely immersed, rising through themurkiness, but he doesn’t panic because Cas is there. He’s wrapped in Cas’s arms which are winding around him, holding him impossibly tight. His vision starts to tunnel from lack of oxygen but Cas has him, holding him with arms that seem to lengthen and thin and have him everywhere at once. He pulls Dean’s head back and smoothly, dreamily they breach the surface so that Dean can take in a lungful of briny air. Now he pants and gasps, leaning back against what should be Cas’s shoulder, but he’s met with something unexpected. It’s slippery and cool, but not unpleasant.

Dean twists to look over his shoulder, struggling to see what has him, but he’s held fast. It’s hard to see in the dark water, but he feels something slithering around his neck, his knees, his ankles. “Cas?”

The only response he gets is the wet brush of of a tentacle against his lower lip.

He opens his mouth in surprise and it’s immediately filled as more twine around him. He should be terrified, fighting to get away, but as the tentacle inside him twists and plunges, he finds himself moaning around the one in his mouth, swirling his tongue over it. He’s so wonderfully filled at both ends, it’s almost everything he needs. Almost, because as tentacles glide gently up and down his body, soothing and massaging, his cock is left woefully ignored. Held firmly in place with his arms pinned to his sides, there’s nothing he can do about it. His attempts at writhing are met with a disapproving squeeze and he feels the tentacles start to withdraw from his mouth and ass. With a whimper, he doubles down, sucking hard and clenching his hole tightly until he’s rewarded again with that incomparable fullness.

Only then does he feel movement, coiling and wrapping from his chest down over his stomach, gliding between his cock and his belly with light, teasing touches even as other tentacles wrap around his thighs, massaging as they pull them apart. Another slithers from behind him, running over the sensitive skin behind his balls, gently squeezing them on the way to twine around his cock. It twirls lazily around the length, rippling up and down with maddening gentleness before surrounding him with a taste of the pressure he needs. Dean moans again, letting the tentacle in his mouth rest warm and heavy on his tongue.

His cock is freed once more and he whimpers in frustration, but soon the sensation returns, now caressing the head of his cock. Unlike the tentacle occupying his mouth, this one has a malleable tip, a hood almost, that slides back and forth. It tentatively explores the head of his cock, teasing around the slit and Dean is being held so tightly that his shudder goes almost unnoticed. A moment later, the tentacle is lined up perfectly, end to end, and the hood slides down, encasing him in a wet warmth like he’s never yet experienced. His cock slips against the firm tentacle, rubbing deliciously as they move together in the tight, hot space. His breath is coming in stuttering gasps as his legs are nudged even further apart and a second tentacle slithers inside him, joining the first.

Dean’s never known pleasure like this, never been so tended to and cared for so completely and thoroughly. There’s so much inescapable sensation as he floats, weightless, simply taking everything offered to him. His vision begins to spark and whiten at the edges as every muscle in his body tightens, the orgasm building with an almost frightening ferocity.

When the sensations unexpectedly diminish, tentacles loosening and retreating, he writhes and tosses. The fan on the motel ceiling looks down on him impassively when he wakes, damp with sweat and with his muscles clenched tight. In the early light the entire room is cast in shades of black and grey as he stares back at the ceiling, trying to orient himself. He hears Cas beside him, hears his breathing even though he's yet to turn and look at him.

There’s something very wrong with him. Wrong enough that he can still feel the gentle pressure of suction on his skin and the beads of sweat pooling on his lower back feel like seawater. He’s hugging himself, hands clamped to his sides and he has to flex his fingers slowly to un-cramp them. He waits until he’s convinced himself it was only a dream before risking a glance at Cas. When he does, he’s relieved to find that Cas is still asleep. He’s facing Dean, asleep on his side and, as Dean watches, Cas’s hand moves a fraction of an inch toward him. It’s too much. Dean throws back the covers and jumps out of bed. The floor seems to rock beneath him, but he keeps to his feet and walks unsteadily to the bathroom, grabbing his clothes along the way.

He runs the cold water as he stares in the mirror’s mottled surface, but he’s too lost in his own thoughts to take in his reflection. These dreams are getting worse. They’re worse the more time he spends with Cas, they closer they are. His subconscious is working overtime, pushing him toward something unattainable. The more he has to push it down, the worse the discrepancy between his want and his reality gets. Really, it’s no surprise his mind is on the edge of cracking.

Cupping a handful of cold water, he splashes his face and then presses more cold water to the back of his neck. It’s enough to make him shiver and he holds both hands under the tap to try and bring down his thumping pulse. The answer is obvious. No more of these hunts just with Cas. No more overnight trips and certainly no more bed sharing. Dean knows what he has to do. He’s practically the valedictorian of compartmentalizing. He just needs to remove the temptation so he can lock this part of his brain safely away. The tap tuns off with a creak and he rubs the towel over his face vigorously. He’ll disappear for awhile, head out under the guise of picking up breakfast. The drive back is going to be awkward, but after that he’ll be able to set his boundaries.

Dressed and armed with a plan and the determination that goes with it, he opens the bathroom door as quietly as he can. Cas is sitting on the edge of the bed. The neck of his T-shirt is pulled to the side, exposing his collarbone. His hair looks worse than it usually does in the morning, like maybe he’s been running his hands through it in agitation. When he looks at Dean, his blue eyes are wild and nearly black in the dim light.

“I had the strangest dreams,” he says, uncertain and rough-voiced.

Dean’s stomach lurches unpleasantly. This couldn’t have happened again. He needs to get out of here, get some air and think. “Yeah, I didn’t actually sleep that much,” he lies, stepping toward the door. “I’ll go get us some coffee.”

“Dean,” Cas says, getting to his feet.

He looks so stunned, so absolutely shell-shocked. Dean wants to go to him and smooth the crease from between his eyebrows. He wants to take him in his arms and hold him tightly until the slight tremble in his limbs stops.

Instead he takes another step toward the door.

Cas’s vision seems to refocus and he hones in on Dean’s movement. Before Dean can react, Cas has crossed the room and taken Dean by the shoulders, pushing him against the door. Ok, Dean deserves this, he deserves to be disparaged for being such a terrible friend, for leaving Cas when he needs comfort. But Dean won’t be able to stop himself once he gets the chance to touch him like that. Cas trusts him with his wings and his safety and his life and he can’t betray that or take advantage of it.

He’s bracing himself to be hit when Cas kisses him.


	8. Chapter 8

Cas kisses him rough and hungry, keeping Dean up against the door. His fingers dig into Dean’s shoulders, and Dean is too stunned to do anything other than let his lips part to the insistence of Cas’s tongue. When Dean finally gets his brain functioning enough to react, he grasps at Cas’s waist with the intention of pulling him closer. Then he stops himself, letting his hands drop to his sides. Reluctantly, he turns his head away from Cas’s searching mouth.

“Cas.” His voice is just above a whisper. Any louder and it would be shaking. “Is this real?”

Cas loosens his grip and steps back without letting go completely. Dean can see the shiny wetness of his mouth as he tilts his head like he’s listening to something Dean can’t hear. “As far as I can tell, yes.”

Dean stays tensed, his guard fully up. “But those other times.” He can barely hold Cas’s gaze as the memories course through him. “They felt real too.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “They felt real but not…realistic,” he ventures. “There’s nothing to make me think this isn’t our true timeline.”

Dean chews his lip and forces himself to look right at Cas. “I don’t want to wake up from this.”

Cas’s face changes just the slightest bit, softening into that tiny smile that’s mostly in his eyes. “Neither do I.”

Dean reaches for him then, both hands cupping his face, and kisses him gently.

They jump apart at a loud bang and a flash of light.

Whirling toward the source, hands already reaching for weapons that aren’t there, they find Gabriel lounging on the bed. He begins a slow clap. “Finally.”

“Gabriel.” Cas’s voice is cool and he’s stepped in front of Dean. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see the results of my hard work.” They stare at him and he looks back at them expectantly. “I mean, it’s not like I expected a gift but is a thank you too much to ask?”

“Thank you for what?” Cas asks. Dean works on pretending he’s not still distracted by the way his mouth tingles and the sight of Cas in only his T-shirt and boxers standing so close in front of him.

Gabriel looks offended. “For what?” He circles his finger expansively in the air at them. “Do you know how much time and effort I’ve put into this? Do you have any idea how pathetic the two of you are? You with your sad blue eyes always mooning after your Righteous Boytoy and _you_!” he gestures to Dean, “always with the self-denying I’m-not-worthy crap.” He shakes his head. “Honestly, it’s been exhausting.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean steps out from behind Cas, who edges a little in front of him again.

Gabriel springs to his feet. “Look, I wanted no part of this. You two dragged me into it without my consent, I might add. Ifyou could’ve gotten your heads out of your respective asses, I never would’ve needed to step in.” He lets his shoulders drop in mock defeat. “It was just so _relentless_. All that _longing_ , day and night. I had to do something.”

He has their full attention now.

“You’ve got two minutes to start making sense before I banish your sorry ass to wherever dick angels go,” Dean says.

Gabriel sighs dramatically. “Ok, let me set the scene for you. There I am minding my own business just, you know, doing inspirational angelic things.” He stops to glare at the combination of eye rolling and snorting that comes from his audience. “When suddenly I’m hit with this overpowering wave of unfulfilled longing. We’re talking a tsunami’s worth. Enough that it practically stopped me in my tracks.” He smirks a little. “And my, shall we say, ‘business partner’ didn’t exactly appreciate that. However, being the consummate professional I am, I managed to finish the…transaction. Multiple times, actually.” Gabriel’s eyes go dreamy for a moment.

“Gabriel.” Cas has his scary angel face on now and Dean is more than a little glad it isn’t directed at him.

Gabriel refocuses and looks at them accusingly. “When I finally got some time to investigate, I realize that you two idiots have somehow created an amplification spell. And because I am your closest and favorite angel brother, I’m stuck bearing the brunt of it.”

Dean wracks his brain. There’s been little to no spell making in the past weeks. What even goes into an amplification spell?

“We didn’t make anything of the ki—oh,” Cas stops.

Gabriel winks. “Now you’re getting it.”

“What’s he talking about?” Dean looks between the two of them.

Cas turns to face Dean. “I believe he means what happened during my molt.” The room is bright enough now that Dean can see his flush of embarrassment. “When I knocked the bottles off of the shelf, the contents must’ve mixed together.”

“But doesn’t it need to be focused on something?” Dean tries to remember what he knows about amplification spells. If he recalls correctly, they require something personal for the enhancement to work. “Or someone?”

Cas ducks his head sheepishly. “My feathers.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “And I cut my finger.”

“Ding ding ding! Winner winner, chicken dinner.” The sarcasm drips from Gabriel. “Now let’s get back to me.”

Dean glances at Cas, but he’s staring at the ground.

Gabriel rubs his hands together and begins to walk back and forth. “So there I am, swimming in this veritable ocean of longing. It’s horrible. Oppressive. I don’t know how you two walked around all day with that level of unresolved sexual tension. I tried everything I could think of to tone it down but, unlike the two of you, it just kept coming.” He shrugs. “I had to do something.”

“What exactly did you do?” Castiel demands.

“All the seeds were there, you know?” He points between them. “You wanted him. He wanted you. You just needed the teensiest shove in each other’s direction.”

Dean remembers the feel of tentacles and starts to argue Gabriel’s definition of ‘teensiest’ before wisely rethinking it.

“I decided you needed some situational help. So I did a little research and did you know those Supernatural books Chuck wrote actually have a rather rabid following on the internet?” He stops, clearly waiting for a response.

“Um,” Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Sam and I did find some of that.”

“Fanfiction.” Shaking his head slightly, Gabriel glances upward as if thanking the heavens for this glorious gift. “These people have _a lot_ of good ideas. So I….might have borrowed some of them to get you in the proper mindset. I started small. Car trouble? Freak blizzard? Mysterious appearance of a conveniently empty cabin with a single bed?” He shakes his head sadly. “It should’ve been enough. You guys were _this_ close. But noooooooo. So I had to go back to the ol’ drawing board and up the ante. A little dream sequence that put you together in a nice, non-threatening setting. Who doesn’t love a coffee shop AU?”

Dean and Cas stare at him.

Gabriel sighs. “Such a meet-cute. With a built-in excuse for seeing each other every day! Plus, _pastries_? No? Nothing?" He pauses then turns to Dean. "And that firefighter get-up?  I mean, who can resist that, amirite?” He waggles his eyebrows knowingly.

Ok, so Dean still pictures that tight T-shirt sometimes. Who could fucking blame him? He doesn’t mention that, of course. Instead he turns up his glare another few notches.

“You two had it figured out after that. I know you did. But once again, it was back to the one step forward, ONE MILLION STEPS BACK routine. So I tried again. The water leak? That was me.” He wrings his hands in distress. “‘Oh no, only rooms with one bed left! Whatever shall we do?’ But still nothing? _Still?_ It was getting worse instead of better. I knew I had to kick it into high gear and well, I apologize if anything went amiss, but it was time to go all in. I was down to a few final tricks (he mutters something that Dean thinks sounds like _sex pollen_ , but that can’t be right) but it looks like you two finally figured things out on your own which honestly is a big win for everybody!” He spreads his arms wide and grins at them.

“So this was all your doing.” Dean’s eyes are cold and hard and there’s a rigid set to his shoulders. He feels Cas turn toward him, but without acknowledging him, Dean grabs his keys and is out the door barefoot.

Castiel rounds on Gabriel, his own eyes glittering with anger. “This is unforgivable, brother.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Gabriel says in disbelief. There’s another crack and flash as he disappears.

Only prior experience with angels poofing into his passenger seat keeps Dean from swerving into oncoming traffic when Gabriel appears next to him.

“Out,” he barks, eyes firmly on the road.

“Dean.” No response.“C’mon. Dean,” he pleads. ”Give me one of those patented _Dean Winchester stares lovingly at his passenger while somehow avoiding all traffic and road hazards_ looks.”

“This whole thing is a joke to you.” Dean tightens his grip on the wheel, knuckles going white.

“Ok look. I’ll admit I might’ve overstepped.”

Dean throws him a brief but murderous look. He thinks of the way his brother basically shoved them together for this supply trip. That was both out of character and unexpected. “So, I guess Sam got my share, huh?”

“What? No.” Gabe looks incredulous. “ _Angels_ sense longing. Not humans. I got the double whammy. Anything Samsquatch did was entirely of his own volition.” Dean doesn’t have time to process the implication of that before Gabriel continues. “Yes, perhaps I… _enhanced_ things a bit, but I could only work with what was already there. You grooming his wings, the case that took you the couples seminar? I didn’t step in until after that. The feelings coming off the both of you were so disgustingly full of desire that I was sure it was just a matter of time. Then I realized this had been going on for years.”

Dean starts to reply to that, but Gabriel cuts him off. “ _Years_ , Dean. Literal years of the two of you dancing around each other, each afraid to make a move for fear of rejection or feelings of unworthiness or maybe a big fat gay panic, I don’t even know. What I do know is that Castiel is my brother and I love him and he loves you and somehow, in some way that I can’t figure, you are good for him. How much longer were you going to keep this up? Let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him but there’s not a lot of argument he can muster.

Gabriel drops the smirk and his tone turns genuine. “I didn’t manufacture the feelings you have for each other. I just tried to give you the opportunity to act on them.”

Dean drives for another minute in silence. “You really think he wants this?”

Gabriel responds with a massive eye roll. “It’s time for you to seize the happiness waiting right there in front of you.” He snaps his fingers.

Dean’s finds himself standing in the doorway of the motel room. He glances over his shoulder to see that the Impala is parked safely in the lot. Inside the room, Cas is standing next to the bed. He has his duffle out and he’s meticulously folding clothes and packing them inside. Dean steps into the room and pushes the door shut, but Cas stays focused on his task.

Dean moves slowly across the room. Seeing as Cas has so far refused even to look at him, Dean’s not sure what the response is going to be. But Cas has unrolled then re-rolled the same pair of socks three times now so Dean takes them out of his hand and drops them in the bag. He sits heavily on the bed and gathers both of Cas’s hands in his.

"I’m sorry,” he begins softly. “Gabe explained things to me and he’s right. This—you—are what I want. What I’ve wanted for so long I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t.” He’s been talking to their entwined hands mostly, but now he looks up at Cas. “If this is what you want too, then I’m in. I’m here for the long haul.”

Cas searches his face for a long moment and then he lets out a long breath and sits down beside him. He squeezes Dean’s hands and Dean smiles shyly at him. When Cas smiles back, Dean leans forward and presses a single kiss to his lips.Resting their foreheads together, they sit and breathe each other in as the motel comes to life around them.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs.

“Yeah?” Dean kisses the edge of Cas’s mouth.

“Can we go home?”

It’s a long drive back to Lebanon (there wasn’t anything that crucial on Dean’s supply list anyhow) and they spend most of it holding hands. Sometimes when Dean needs both of them on the wheel, Cas will rest his hand on Dean’s leg or knead his shoulder to loosen the stiffness from the hours behind the wheel. When Cas falls asleep, with his hand still in Dean’s and his head tipped back, Dean steals glances at him. And when Cas begins to stir as Dean exits and pulls in to a place to eat, Dean doesn’t hurriedly look away the way he usually would. Instead, he treats himself to the sight of blue eyes slowly blinking open. The moment Cas remembers what’s happened is telegraphed on his face and he turns quickly to look at Dean, who is smiling fondly at him. Dean squeezes their clasped hands and he’s rewarded with a smile as bright as the sun.

“Hungry?”

Cas nods and they reluctantly let go of each other to get out of the car. The day is cool but the barbecue joint has some picnic tables next to the smokehouse so they carry their baskets of food out back to sit side by side on a wooden bench. They take their time, oblivious to the chill in the air, warmed by each other’s nearness and the press of their legs under the table. When Cas uses his thumb to wipe a bit of sauce from Dean’s chin, Dean checks that they’re alone and then takes Cas’s thumb into his mouth to lick it clean.

“Are you—what are you going to tell Sam?”

“I’m not hiding this,” Dean says.

That will have to wait, though, because by the time they get back to the bunker, Sam isn’t there. Dean, who maybe neglected to text him to say they were coming back early, shoots him a text to check in and learns that he’s out overnight consulting on a case. Dean stands in the empty bunker with his fingers hovering over his phone. This seems like a thing he should tell his brother in person, he decides, and tucks his phone back in his pocket.

The bit of relief at not having to have that conversation quite yet is quickly replaced by a wave of uncertainty. Somehow, during all those hours of driving, he didn’t manage to think past what would happen once they arrived in Lebanon. Now he’s standing inside the bunker with a death grip on his duffle, and Cas is looking at him like he’s waiting for instruction.

“Uh, we should probably….” He lifts his duffle in silent explanation. Cas nods his agreement and they walk the halls together, shoulders brushing but not really touching.

Dean gets why Cas wanted to come back here. The motel room was too impersonal, too transient. Dean thought it would be comforting to get back to Kansas, but now that he’s here, he’s not sure how he’s supposed to act. For so long the bunker was a place where Dean kept his feelings tightly in check. A place where his expectations stayed so low that they might as well have been buried somewhere underground, like the bunker itself.The bunker is where he silently pines for Cas. It’s where he pretends he’s fine with what he doesn’t have.

This morning everything changed. Now Dean’s struggling with how to make sense of their new relationship in a place that feels unaltered. It’s causing a flicker of dissonance to ripple through him, which only adds to his fear that he still might wake from this. 

It was easier in the Impala, Dean thinks. Her frame acted like a bubble of security keeping them from the world and the world from them. For a split second Dean considers leading Cas back to the garage where the familiar surroundings would settle his own rattled nerves, but Cas deserves more than that. While the Impala has borne witness to a steady stream of Dean’s conquests, Cas isn’t merely the next in that line. Cas is a new beginning. Cas had called the bunker _home_ and that both thrilled and terrified Dean.

Dean’s roused from his rumination by Cas saying his name, and he becomes aware that they’re standing in the hallway between their bedrooms. When he doesn’t respond, something dims in Cas’s eyes and he opens the door to his own room.

“Wait.” Dean pushes past where he stands in the doorway and crosses the room, returning quickly with Cas’s pillow in his hands. “Ok?” he asks, but without waiting for a response, Dean continues across the hall to his room. He tells himself that Cas following behind him is all the answer he needs.

In the room, Dean drops his duffle on the floor and lays Cas’s pillow carefully alongside his own. It’s the stupidest thing, but the sight of his bed made up for two leaves him equal parts giddy and bashful. Cas is staring at the bed like it’s something completely new and wondrous and, since Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, he takes the duffle from Cas’s hand and sets it on the floor. Then he picks them both up and sets them on his dresser. He unzips his own then zips it shut again.

It’s not like he’s some blushing virgin. He’s a guy with a list of moves a mile long, most of which have a tried and true track record. Yet, here in his bedroom, he’s left enough room between them that a nun at a Catholic school dance would nod her approval. All those shared dreams…is this supposed to be like one of those? Should they be ripping each other’s clothes off by now? Tumbling together in some sort of passionate frenzy like they did after the movie date? Should Cas be ordering him around? (Yeah, ok, that dream sequence took some unexpected turns, but there were definitely aspects of it he would be willing to revisit.)

One hand to the back of his neck, he turns to face Cas. “I don’t know exactly how to…“

“We don’t have to do anything,” Cas assures him.

The thought of doing nothing, of one more day just like all the others is enough to snap Dean into action. He reaches for Cas’s hand. “No way. We are totally doing something,” he declares, with the old Dean Winchester swagger. “I mean, unless you don’t want to,” he adds quickly.

Cas saves him (add it to the tally) by kissing him.

Now Dean wonders what he was worried about. He remembers with complete certainty how good this felt, how perfectly their mouths fit together. He pulls Cas nearer and, while he’s most definitely not the type to cling, he can’t seem to get Cas close enough. They move to the edge of the bed and Cas sits, tugging Dean down to straddle his lap and while the kissing alone was good, this is even better. Dean keeps leaning into him, trying to get closer until they tumble backwards and Cas is flat on his back, laughing. Dean pushes up on his hands to grin down at him. All of the awkwardness is gone and Dean’s chest nearly bursts with delight.

“No laughing,” he tells Cas, leaning down to kiss his nose where it crinkles, “this is serious business.” He kisses the side of his face and then the tip of his nose. “Very serious.”

Cas tries for a solemn face but his blue eyes sparkle. “Yes, I see that now.” He twines his arms around Dean’s neck and Dean drops to his forearms so they can kiss some more. Cas moves to kiss along Dean’s jaw and Dean tucks his head into Cas’s neck, nosing at the spot below his ear where his hair curls. When Cas makes a little hum of approval, Dean pulls away which causes Cas to furrow his brow. 

“These need to go.” Dean sits up to pull off his boots and socks and Cas follows suit. “Also this.” He starts to tug off Cas’s T-shirt just as Cas leans in for another kiss and ends up smacking him in the chin. “Oh my God.” Dean lets go of the shirt and takes Cas’s face in his hands. “Are you ok?” He tips Cas’s head to look at his chin.

“It may require the last of my grace,” Cas says, deadpan, as he guides Dean’s hands from his face back down to his waist, “but I think I’ll survive it.”He makes a show of leaning safely back out of the way. “Let’s try this again.” He raises his arms so that Dean can pull the shirt over his head.

Dean is mesmerized by the expanse of tanned skin and lean muscle. The same body he could only pretend he wasn’t staring at yesterday in Sam’s room is now his to touch. He’s so transfixed by this that he stays where he is, clutching Cas’s shirt to his chest, even as Cas positions himself fully on the bed.

“Dean,” Cas finally says with that same commanding tone he used in the dream.

At that, Dean springs into motion, simultaneously pulling off his shirt and scrambling next to Cas. Graceful as a drunk sea lion, he nearly faceplants on the bed. There’s no time for embarrassment, though, not when he’s lying in Cas’s arms. Warm and safe, Dean runs his hands up and down Cas’s bare back tracing the dip and curve from his shoulders down to his hips. Cas kisses a line down his neck, biting gently at Dean’s shoulder when Dean pushes one thigh between his legs.

Dean pulls him closer. He wants to wrap him up and never let him go. They’ve wasted so much time, time they could have spent just like this. A shiver goes through him when he thinks about how easily they could have missed their chance. One of them, both of them, dead or gone forever without ever having known each other this way. Dean never would have felt Cas’s heart beating against his own, he would have gone on forever denying himself this happiness. He digs his fingers into Cas’s shoulder a little desperately. They’ll never be close enough.

Cas’s mouth is gone from his neck now. He’s nuzzling Dean’s cheek and stroking Dean’s hair so softly, gently petting him even as Dean clutches Cas to him. Dean blinks away the prickle of tears before lifting his face from where it’s buried in the crook of Cas’s neck.

Resting a hand on Dean’s cheek, Cas smiles at him. “Still real.”

Dean lets out a long breath. “I’m gonna have to send your brother a fruit basket or something.”

“That would be a very thoughtful gesture,” Cas agrees, rolling him onto his back.

Straddling Dean’s hips, Cas laces their fingers together and slides Dean’s hands up until they’re resting on either side of the pillow. With Dean laid out under him, he resumes his attention to Dean’s neck, kissing and nibbling. Dean’s hips buck up when Cas sucks a mark at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and Cas tightens his grip, holding Dean’s hands down. Desire thrums through him and he squirms a little bit both to test Cas’s commitment to keeping him pinned and to find some friction. As Cas lets his mouth meander downwards, he shifts his weight back a little and now Dean can feel the hard line of him through his jeans. Cas kisses feather-light around one nipple, blowing gently on it to watch it harden. Dean gasps when he flicks his tongue over it and Cas rewards him by grinding their hips together.

Dragging his tongue across Dean’s chest, Cas sucks the other nipple into his mouth and Dean briefly considers asking Cas to mojo their pants off so he never has to move. Cas takes his time, lingering on that one nipple until Dean begins to twist under him and when he finally lifts off, it’s with a quick sharp scrape of teeth. Cas looks at Dean hungrily and presses his hands down once before releasing him. It’s a promise of things to come that leaves Dean panting. With his hands freed, Dean immediately grabs for Cas’s hips, surging up to kiss him as he glides his hands over his ass to pull him back down.

He nudges Cas onto his side and teases his fingers lightly along the the waist of his jeans, dipping under the denim to get at skin. Dean meanders his way down from the series of marks he’s sucked along his collarbone, lazily kissing and licking and exploring.Over and over he grazes ever-closer to the most sensitive areas until Cas has both hands in Dean’s hair and Dean can feel him struggling not to direct his head where he wants it. Finally he presses a kiss to Cas’s sternum before taking one nipple in his mouth and twisting the other with his fingers. Cas cries out softly and Dean is nearly overcome by the thought of discovering every sound Cas makes, of being the one to pull each reaction from his body. The idea is so enticing that he forgoes finesse and rubs a hand over the bulge in Cas’s jeans. The sharp intake of breath he gets as a result is enough to have Dean popping open the button.

Cas rolls onto his back to give Dean better access. Dean pushes up on one elbow and pulls down Cas’s zipper so that he can watch his hand slither into the opening to cup Cas’s erection. With only the thin layer of his boxers between them, Dean squeezes firmly then drags his fingers up and down from the spreading damp spot at the tip to the heavy weight of his balls. Although he can barely tear his eyes away, he chances a look at Cas’s face to see that his eyes are closed and he’s biting his bottom lip. His chest rises and falls with fast, shallow breaths, and he has one hand twisted in the blankets while the other one grips Dean’s bicep. Dean hooks two fingers under the elastic of his boxers and lets the pads of his fingers circle the head of his cock, smearing the leaking pre-come. Cas’s lips part and his eyes fly open.

Emboldened by this response, Dean smiles at him before leaning over to kiss his stomach. He works the jeans and boxers off of Cas’s hips and kisses along the trail of dark hair that starts below his navel. The scent of Cas’s arousal is alluring but before Dean lets himself indulge in any more, he kneels beside Cas to pull his clothes all the way down and off.

Cas reaches for him, but Dean moves out of his grasp, palming himself through his jeans. He wants to savor this moment of Cas lying naked before him, lying naked _for_ him. He stares until his mouth literally starts to water and then he settles himself between Cas’s legs. Bracing himself on his hands, he kisses Cas deeply then leans back to skim his palms the length of his torso and over his hips to knead his muscular thighs. Breathing deeply, he buries his face in the crease of Cas’s thigh, nibbling and kissing up to swirl his tongue over the sharp jut of his hipbone. He continues down and inward until he feels the impossible heat of Cas’s cock brush his cheek. He darts his tongue at the tip, tasting the saltiness there and Cas gasps. Ignoring the way his heart is pounding, Dean moves to the other side, biting gently at the other hip bone before laving at it with his tongue. He teases until Cas begins to whimper, taking pity on him when he whispers _please._ Only then does he lick a wet stripe up Cas’s cock, dragging his tongue languidly along the veined underside on his way to sink his mouth over the head. Cas lets out a moan so gorgeous that Dean works to take him in as deeply as he can, wrapping his hand around the rest.

Cas’s hands are in his hair again, somewhere between lightly grasping and petting. Dean reaches up, pressing his free hand on top of Cas’s to show him it’s ok. Immediately Cas tightens his grip, both palms splayed on Dean’s head, guiding and holding as he thrusts tentatively upward. Dean’s not about to let Cas do all the work so he swirls his tongue around the shaft and flicks it up over the head, discovering what Cas likes as Cas loses his hesitation and fucks into Dean’s mouth.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, more than says. “Dean.” Dean takes him even deeper and Cas’s fingers curl into his hair. “Dean, wait. Stop.”

Dean pulls off immediately, wiping his mouth with one hand and laying the other on Cas’s flank. He searches Cas’s face, concerned. “I’m sorry. Am I going too fast?”

Cas’s face is flushed and he stares at Dean almost wild-eyed. “That feels so good.”

Dean breaks into a smile. “Yeah, that’s kinda the point.”

“I want to do it to you.”

Before Dean can process that, Cas has manhandled him onto his back, unfastening and removing his jeans and underwear so fast that Dean thinks it might be grace-aided. He stops wondering (and caring) when Cas kneels between his thighs and strokes a hand reverently over his rock-hard dick. Dean lifts his head off the pillow to watch the head of his cock disappear into Cas’s loose fist but he has to lay flat when Cas licks his lips and bends forward. Cas takes the tip into his mouth, sucking gently but even that amount of wet heat is nearly enough to stop Dean’s heart. At first Dean thinks Cas is hesitant about this new development because Cas sticks to a variety of light touches, experimenting with different angles and pressures, with curled tongue and flat. But all the while, Cas has Dean’s hips in a vice grip, fingers tight enough to leave bruises. The confident control paired with the almost exploratory ministrations have Dean’s brain short-circuiting. Cas knows exactly what he’s doing and Dean lets him until the sparking pleasure begins to organize into a coiling need.

As good as it feels—and it feels _amazing_ —Dean tugs hard at Cas’s shoulder to stop him. Cas doesn’t question it, he merely looks Dean in the eye and gives one last slow lick before crawling over to stretch out beside him.

Dean isn’t sure what it means and he doesn’t take time to question it, he just knows that he needs to be kissing Cas through this. He wraps his arms around Cas and does just that while Cas reaches between them to stroke Dean. Cas slides his free hand around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in as Dean’s hips rock. He keeps kissing him even when Dean is reduced to slack-mouthed moaning, his hands threaded in Cas’s hair. When he nips as Dean’s lower lip and swipes his thumb over the head of Dean’s cock, Dean comes all over Cas’s hand and onto both of their stomachs. Cas holds him through the twitching aftershocks, slowing his strokes as Dean pants. Cas kisses his lips and his cheeks and his forehead until Dean recovers. Then Cas raises up on one elbow to smile down at him, and Dean sighs happily.

Cas still has his hand lightly curled around Dean’s softening dick and Dean fumbles toward the night stand until he grabs some tissues from the box there. Cas wipes his hand and when he leans over Dean to toss the used tissues out of the way, Dean feels his erection against his thigh.

Dean starts to reach for it, maybe to shift back down and get it in his mouth again, but Cas rolls onto him instead, positioning himself along the crease of Dean’s thigh. He moves slowly at first, pre-come and sweat easing the slide, kissing Dean like he needs it to breathe. Dean lets his hands roam, from Cas’s shoulders to his waist, then cupping his ass. Cas rocks against him, and when Dean wraps one leg around Cas’s thigh to hold him steady, Cas moans and picks up the pace. Cas doesn’t try to stifle the noises he makes. He’s unabashed in his enjoyment and Dean listens to his gasps and groans with a thrilling pride. He ruts against Dean, faster and faster, his face now buried in Dean’s neck while Dean murmurs encouragement to him and snakes one hand between them to twist a nipple. Cas’s breath is coming in gasps now, each one punctuated with a breathy moan. He says Dean’s name once, like he’s lost, and Dean cards a hand through his hair. “I’m here,” he assures him. “I’ve got you.”

Cas stills and then he cries out as he arches and spurts hot between them. Then he goes so boneless on top of him that Dean gets concerned enough to actually tap him on the shoulder.

“No,” Cas says and the rumble of his voice tickles Dean’s neck.

“No what?”

“Don’t move.” Cas angles his head so that his voice is no longer muffled. “I am perfectly content here.”

Dean smiles and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Eventually they move just enough to get ready for bed properly and Dean settles in, held tightly against Cas’s chest. Cas curls into his back, his head on Dean’s shoulder, his arm around Dean’s waist, his knees tucked up against the back of Dean’s legs. Even their feet touch. (Dean makes a crack about being the little spoon and Cas huffs a breath against his cheek. “Nesting spoons are the same size, Dean. You are merely the inside spoon.”)

They drift off to sleep and while Dean does startle awake a few times during the night, he never gets the chance to worry that this was all a dream because each time he wakes Cas has limbs flung over and around him, keeping him safe and cocooned. 

When Dean wakes in the morning with his stomach growling, he has to perform a stealth maneuver to disentangle himself from Cas who apparently moonlights as a Cuddle Monster of the Lord. When Cas makes a small unhappy noise, Dean pushes his pillow into Cas’s arms and Cas rubs his cheek on it and hugs it tight.

Dean pulls on a shirt and pajama pants and slips out of the room to start a pot of coffee. The bacon is just beginning to sizzle and Dean’s whistling and stirring pancake batter when he hears his brother come down the steps from the front door.

“Morning, Sam!” Dean greets him. “Want coffee?”

Sam doesn’t return the greeting. Instead he fills the doorway, his whole body radiating disapproval. “Really?”

“Sam, look—“ Dean begins, but Sam cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“You couldn’t even do this one thing with Cas? You chickened out after the first night?”

“That’s not what happened,” Dean says, but Sam is already walking out of the kitchen.

“You’re back here, aren’t you? With everything just the way it’s always been.”

“Sam, no, listen.”

The fight has gone out of Sam now and the look he gives Dean is equal parts disappointment and pity. He has his back to the hall so he doesn’t see Cas step out of Dean’s room. Dean can see him, though and he’s so distracted by the sight of him in boxers and one of Dean’s band T-shirts that he forgets to make his point.

“Should I come back?” Cas ventures and this close, Dean can see that his old, worn shirt is loose enough that a number of the hickeys Dean gave him last night are clearly visible.

“No,” Dean says quickly, but Sam is done.

“Just forget it, Dean,” Sam says cryptically. “I’d hoped you could take matters into your own hands but apparently that was too much to ask.” He turns to walk away.

“Sam! Matters! I took them into my own hands! That and…alot of other things,” Dean says. Now Sam and Cas are both looking at him like he’s speaking in tongues. Which, come to think of it, is another thing he took into his own hands. Or mouth. Or whatever.

That gives him an idea and, with his brother’s full attention, he takes Cas’s face in his hands and kisses him solidly on the mouth. With a little tongue action just for good measure.

Sam gapes at them, too surprised even to gloat. Finally he smiles broadly, stepping forward to hug each of them in turn, almost ceremoniously. “It’s about fucking time,” he whispers to Dean, even as he squeezes him senseless.

“So…” Dean begins but Sam is three steps ahead of him. He pulls his keys back out of his pocket and moves up the stairs in long strides.

“Text me when it’s safe to come back,” he calls out just before the door slams shut behind him.

“Do I smell bacon?” Cas asks, as Dean attempts unsuccessfully to smooth down his hair.

“And coffee.”

Cas’s eyes light up and steers Dean into the kitchen. He fixes two mugs of coffee while Dean starts the pancakes. They sit at the table to eat and it’s peaceful and easy and blissfully domestic. Other than the fact that Dean runs his foot up and down Cas’s bare calf under the table, not that much is different. Cas spears a piece of pancake from Dean’s plate and Dean leans over to lick a glistening drop of syrup from his lips and ok, yeah, everything has changed.

Cas gazes at him as he finishes eating. “Done?”

Dean nods, full and content.

Cas gets to his feet and reaches a hand out to help Dean up. “Good. You’re going to need those calories.”

**Author's Note:**

> My sfw fics can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder).
> 
> I am [scones-and-texting-and-murder](http://scones-and-texting-and-murder.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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